Rebellion, Resignation, Revelation and Resolution
by sapphyrraven
Summary: AU from mid-season 4. Blaine and Kurt never made-up - Kurt, hurt by Blaine's transgression, cut himself off from his old life and refused any and all further contact leaving Blaine lost and broken in Lima. This is the tale of how rebellion, resignation, and revelations eventually led to their resolution. Or - how Kurt saved Blaine from himself.
1. Chapter 1

**Rebellion**

_Every act of rebellion expresses a nostalgia for innocence and an appeal to the essence of being. - Albert Camus_

* * *

**The Anniversary**

The sky is a darkening bruise and the cold seeps into his bones, whipping him as it does the skeletal branches and their fallen golden progeny. He draws his coat tighter around his frame as he walks; his fingers numb and useless. The ring on the third finger of his left hand spins freely now as he rotates it with his thumb – another new sensation – cold, unfamiliar and heavy with unspoken symbolism. They won't understand – he knows that. He's not sure he has the energy to even begin to make them. To help them. He's not sure he even knows where to begin.

* * *

It had started at a party Blaine and his brother and he had thrown in honour of their parents' 30th wedding anniversary. He had felt eyes on him all evening and he had tried to ignore the sensation – focusing instead on being the perfect host – ensuring his guests had everything they needed and allowing his parents to celebrate. Cooper had come without a date and so, after making the necessary rounds, had migrated to the bar and a group of predominantly older, single women. Blaine had rolled his eyes and left his brother to it steadfastly refusing to get dragged into another duet where his sole purpose would be to amplify his brother's talent and sex appeal. He was not wholly sure how long he could avoid the inevitable, however, as when she had been drinking his mother was prone to demanding that he perform for whichever company was around at the time. By the looks of things he had a couple more hours before his mother would be requesting he play the baby grand and then it would become the Cooper Show. He found himself downing a brandy in anticipation, flinching as it burnt his throat and set fire to his belly. He watched the couples mingle.

_Kurt should have been here with me._

A second brandy chased that unwelcome thought away before it became a pity party for one. A familiar tickle in the back of his mind drew him once again from his thoughts and into the room and the eyes he felt all over his skin. Crawling inside him, burrowing deeply.

_Let them. They'll find me wanting._

* * *

Douglas Graeme Chambers, 3rd, was undeniably bored. It was not that he was unused to events such as this – in fact the truth was quite the opposite – it was that Douglas was fed up with the subtext. He was fed up of being dragged up from his home and friends in New York to be paraded around in the hope that finally, finally, the eldest son of the esteemed Douglas Graeme Chambers, 2nd, would find a suitable wife. As indeed, his younger brother Roger had done. It was actually Roger's fault he was in Ohio for this particular function – Roger had deemed the Andersons' anniversary party to be the perfect opportunity to introduce his wayward elder brother to his lifelong friend and their social circle. It was not exactly New York.

'Maybe that's what you need, Diggsie – fresh blood!'

Yes – homophobic, backwards Ohio was exactly what Douglas needed. Why had he not thought of it before?

Over the years he had tried, oh, how he had tried, to explain that he was never going to marry – at least, not a lady. His father was continually disappointed in him, embarrassed even – especially when Roger married, then produced not one, but two, male heirs. Douglas' mother eventually gave up trying to "set him up" after none of the "dates" progressed passed the initial "getting to know you" dinner. If she had not given up on her own Douglas would have eventually simply refused to attend them – ultimately it was easier for her to ignore him and to focus instead on her other son and two grandsons.

Partly due to this Douglas had long ago stopped returning to the family homestead for Thanksgivings, Christmases and other family gatherings – early on he had tired of his mother's insistence on calling his partners his "friends". The pressure and lack of acceptance drove each away eventually anyway. Not that any had really held his attention in the long-term – he preferred to stay rather cold and distant – a self-defence mechanism so ingrained in his core it was now indistinguishable from his original and true self even to Douglas. Designed to keep him from getting hurt, designed to keep them from getting too close, to stop them from finding him wanting as they inevitably would.

So, Douglas had been free to stay in New York for almost 15 years, however, his father's patience had long ago expired. It was only the fact that, under Douglas' stewardship and guidance his Grandfather's business _D.G. Chambers & Sons _of Jermyn Street, London, was also now of 160 W. 71st Street, New York, that he had been granted a degree of privacy and a brief reprise. However, the impending 70th birthday had reminded the senior Douglas of his own mortality and had ultimately turned the spotlight back on Douglas, who had selfishly not taken the time granted to him to find a wife for himself. The argument that had ensued had been nasty and had resulted in both men refusing to have anything more to do with each other. It had taken Roger and their mother's interference to return the men to speaking terms, stilted and purely business-related as they were. Douglas had eventually learned the terms of his acquaintance with his family – he was to attend any and all societal events his parents deemed him to, as a representative of the company, of course, and he was to wine and dine any relevant daughters of potential business partners or customers. Douglas would rather have drunk lead acid, but he was grateful to Roger for his attempt at peace-making – their parents were aging and the last thing any of them needed were regrets. He had too many of those already.

This party of the Andersons' was the first of these new additions to his social calendar – Roger's wife, Adeline, was apparently under strict instruction to introduce Douglas to any suitable ladies (she had, no doubt, been given clear instructions as to how to determine eligibility by Douglas' mother). So far none had kept his attention past a brief conversation long enough to be deemed socially acceptable regarding the unseasonably cold weather, before he excused himself and returned to the bar.

Douglas had, of course, eventually been introduced to Bill Anderson and his wife, as well as their eldest son, Cooper. There had been mentions of a younger son, however, Cooper had quickly curtailed the conversation and grasped the attention of all involved with an anecdote that had apparently required a lot of wild gesticulating. Douglas had zoned out quickly and amused himself instead by allowing his eyes to scan, and if he were honest, _judge_, each of the other guests. He had met plenty of Cooper's type before – handsome, high maintenance, and straight as they come. Anyway, blue eyes had never really done anything for him. It was then that he saw _him_. He was old Hollywood and youth – all strength, and lean, long-limbed, limber beauty; broad shoulders and impossibly narrow hips. Simply put – he took Douglas' breath away – the boy belonged on film; he was completely out-of-place in a dull dinner party in Ohio. Douglas was only aware that he had been staring when the youth suddenly met his gaze. There was a fascinating sadness there – a depth to those golden eyes that was completely unexpected, and he found that he needed to know the story beneath their depths. Was the youth as fascinated by what he saw? He could not possibly be so – they were from two completely different worlds, let alone generations. Douglas knew that he was deemed attractive – in many ways he had improved with age, but that was the first problem right there – age. This youth could be no older than 18. Douglas was north of 40 – closer in age to the lad's parents. Not to mention the complications of sexuality, the law, societal norms, and a thousand other roadblocks that Douglas' mind helpfully provided for him. But that did not stop his heart racing in a way it had never quite done before and Douglas quickly found that he could not seem to bring himself to break eye-contact. Instead of looking away and returning to the conversation with the Andersons – Cooper had long since left the small group, and Roger was happily discussing something political with Bill while the wives engaged in discussions regarding their sons and the pros and cons of schooling in Westerville versus Lima – he found himself avidly studying the creature of beauty before him.

'Oh, that's Blaine.'

Mrs Anderson (Douglas berated himself for failing to recall her name)'s voice snatched Douglas' attention.

'I'm sorry?' He hoped he managed to sound better than he felt.

'The young man over there that caught your attention – he's my youngest, Blaine.'

Douglas turned back to find the youth had returned to his previous activities as a host whilst Douglas had been distracted by the lad's mother. Douglas regretfully returned his attention to the ladies, suddenly finding himself interested in why the youngest Anderson had fought so hard to transfer schools.

* * *

The tall gentleman engaged in conversation with his parents and the Chamberses was looking at him again - Blaine could feel his eyes on his back, his ass, his legs. He felt nervous and naked, exposed and alarmingly aroused. He was being appreciated and appraised openly and unashamedly and he really was not used to it - he was still getting used to the idea that he could be deemed "attractive" and worthy of such attention, but the whole thing with Kurt had severely knocked his confidence. Actually it felt good. Better than good. He felt colour rise in his cheeks and saw a smile tickle the corners of the other man's lips. Something deep inside Blaine celebrated that he could cause such a reaction. It concerned Blaine how unconcerned he was that the attention was coming from a man who was clearly his parents' age. Instead, the thought that such a man – immaculately dressed, experienced, worldly wise and so evidently wealthy – could be interested in him sent a thrill through him. He could not bring himself to look too deeply into _why_ that was his reaction – he was pretty confident he would not like what he saw.

When the gentleman finally looked away, distracted by something Blaine's mother had said, it was as if a trance had been broken and Blaine tried to distract himself by endeavouring to ensure that all the guests in the vicinity's needs were catered for. But the feel of the man's eyes never left him and he found his own meeting the mystery man's more regularly than would be proper. That nervous tingle of excitement and arousal built steadily with each minute that passed until Blaine found he _needed _to flee – to get fresh air – to escape the intensity of this feeling he could not understand. He fingered his phone in his pocket as he made his way out into the chilled air. He walked through the garden until he could walk no further and could barely hear the clamour of the party, sheltered as he was by a dense hedgerow. He fought to regain control with each forced breath of the freezing air. He could feel the blush lingering in his cheeks and he knew it was not entirely there due to the brandy. He pulled out his phone, steeling himself and dialled Sam's number, Sam was after all the only friend he had left at McKinley. He needed to talk to someone – for someone to talk him out of doing something else extremely stupid -

_It doesn't feel stupid._

- to rationalise it for him.

No answer.

He sighed and returned his phone to his pocket unsure whether the wave that crashed over him was relief, disappointment, or fear. He watched his breath curl in air before him as he again tried to calm himself down.

_Pull yourself together, Blaine. It is probably all in your head. You haven't even spoken to the guy! He's probably not even interested – why would he be? He was probably looking at you because your mother was talking about you. It is possible he was even looking at someone behind you. You are utterly insignificant and your only purpose tonight is to ensure your parents enjoy their party and so do their guests. Oh, and to stop Cooper doing something incredibly stupid. Now, pull yourself together and stop letting what happened with Kurt get to you. That's all this is – misdirected, desperate craving for attention. Now get back in there and do your duty as a son._

* * *

Douglas could not explain the panic that swept over him when he lost sight of Blaine – he felt odd using _his_ name when they had not yet even been formally introduced. He had not even heard _him_ speak. All he knew with utter clarity was that he felt bizarrely protective of _him_. Douglas filed the thought away to worry about what it meant later, for now all he knew was that he had to find _him_. What if he had missed his chance? What if _he_ had left the party? He found himself making plans and coming up with excuses, each more ridiculous and implausible than the last, as to why he would need to call again on the Andersons and their sons. A firm hand on his shoulder effectively broke his fevered reverie and caused him to jump.

'Are you alright, Diggsie?'

Upon realising the intrusion was merely his brother, Douglas returned to his frantic, albeit stationary searching.

'It's nothing.'

'Doesn't look like nothing.' Roger said as he stepped deliberately into Douglas' eye line – blocking his line of sight with the majority of the room.

Douglas sighed and allowed his gaze to settle on his brother's earnest face.

'What's got you all flustered? I've not seen you look so…'

'So what, Rog?'

'Panicked? Desperate?'

Douglas looked at his brother – really looked at him. How could he even begin to explain something even he did not understand? Of course his brother knew the real reason why Douglas had never shown an interest in marriage (to a woman). Roger knew why Douglas' enforced dates never went past the first dinner. It was never something they had discussed. He had no idea how his brother felt about it - whether he even supported him or not. All he really had to go on was the fact that Roger had intervened on his behalf in the past – that suggested that Roger was OK with him – at least partly. Douglas took a breath as he decided on how much to divulge to his younger sibling.

'I was looking for someone.'

'Who? I hadn't noticed you spend more than a cursory half hour with any one person this evening.' Roger turned to look in the direction his brother had last been searching. Douglas sighed and steeled himself.

'I actually haven't formally met them yet…' He allowed his sentence to trail off allowing his brother to garner what he would from the admission.

'Take your eye did they?' Roger turned back to face his brother – a glint in his eye. Douglas did not miss his brother's continuation of the non-gender specific pronoun rather than assuming the feminine as their parents would have done. Douglas allowed himself to take it as a positive sign – a suggestion of acceptance.

'The youngest Anderson. I realised that I had yet to introduce myself and I was attempting to correct that fact.'

'Ah! You mean Blaine. He's a sweet young thing – used to go to Dalton with my two. A Warbler like you were. Nothing like his elder brother – a bit like you and I in that regard.' Roger turned to scour the room again and Douglas released a breath he had not been aware he had been holding.

'Used to?' Douglas grasped the opportunity to find out more about the details behind the youngest Anderson's battle to transfer to the state school in Lima against his parents' better judgement and wishes.

'Hm?' Roger turned to face his brother again.

'You said he used to go to Dalton. I heard Mrs Anderson and your Adeline skirting around that earlier. Did the lad do something?'

Roger snorted in amusement.

'Blaine! Ha! No.' Roger met Douglas' eye and paused. He was contemplating something – that much was plain. Douglas frowned. What could possibly have happened to the lad that could be so terrible as to result in him practically begging (by all accounts) to transfer schools? What could be so bad that Roger had to debate whether or not to tell his own brother what he knew? Roger seemed to make up his mind, lowering his voice after giving their surroundings a cursory glance to ensure they would not be overheard gossiping about their hosts' youngest son. 'It was something to do with a boy. That's what my Doug said anyway. Blaine's friend was being bullied at his old school and so he transferred to Dalton to escape it. Blaine had experienced something similar before the Andersons had moved here because of Bill's job – so the lads had a lot in common.'

'So what happened to make Blaine move schools?'

'His friend decided he missed his friends from his old school, or something, and moved back. Blaine missed him so he followed suit. Bill was not thrilled at the thought, not after what happened to Blaine at his previous school.'

'What happened?'

'Lad was attacked. Nasty business. It was better for everyone that they moved and pulled him out of that place when they did. Set him back a year.'

'That bad?'

'Kept it out of the public eye though – I think all those involved were relieved when they settled out of court.'

'I'm not surprised that Bill was a bit anxious about his son transferring schools then. Especially to a state school.'

'Exactly. He gave in eventually though. Adeline and I were shocked when they told us – we never thought Blaine would get his own way.'

'Lad should be a lawyer.'

'Ha! I think that's what Bill thought too!'

'What of the friend?'

Roger studied his brother's face during their exchange carefully as they spoke – Douglas, however, kept his face in a careful mask – he had years of practice feigning indifferent interest after all.

'No longer in the picture from what I've heard. Lad was the same age as Blaine but, of course, after the incident, Blaine was kept back a year so he went off to college while Blaine had to stay in the school he fought so hard to transfer to, alone. It's been rough on him, from what I've heard. Bill's been trying to convince him to go back to Dalton – they would take him back in a heartbeat, even mid-way through the school year. Kid's bright. They've been having hell of a time with him though.'

'Sounds like transferring would be for the best – Dalton would look better when his college applications go through.'

'Undeniably.'

Douglas hummed in response. Roger frowned and placed a hand steadily on his brother's shoulder as he passed by.

'Careful, Diggsie.'

* * *

Blaine breathed in the heady scent of the last of the winter jasmine as he passed the beds, letting the familiarity of it soothe him. What on earth was wrong with him? He was being utterly ridiculous – he was letting his teenage libido get the better of him again. That was how he ended up sans boyfriend in the first place. He laughed bitterly at himself.

_If only it were as simple as "boyfriend". That word was never enough - never could be enough for what we had. What I ruined._

The sound of someone calling his name caused Blaine to pick up speed as he made his way back to the party. He gradually made out his brother's silhouette and waived in Cooper's direction to acknowledge that he had heard him and was coming. Blaine was rewarded with a mime and a lot of agitated pointing from which Blaine inferred that he was being summoned to the piano. He sighed and slowed his pace – a little act of rebellion, even if it was only delaying the inevitable.

Goosebumps specked his flesh as he re-entered the stuffy warmth of the house filled with too many bodies and the associated mix of colognes, perfumes, alcohol, sweat and cold vol-au-vents that assaulted him. He managed to mask his revulsion as he made his way obediently to the piano. His brother had turned off the sound system and saying something that would both draw the assembled guests' attention to the piano whilst simultaneously making him come across charming and entertaining. Blaine did not even need to listen to his brother – he predicted the ripple of amusement that jostled the room accurately by the timbre of Cooper's voice. Blaine smiled to himself.

_Showtime._


	2. Chapter 2

**Towing the Line**

* * *

Blaine woke up with a thick head and a sore throat and deems the party to have been a success. He is pleased for his parents' sakes - at least they seemed to have enjoyed themselves if the number of times they both had thanked Cooper and himself throughout the latter half of the evening was anything to go by (Blaine suspects that alcohol had a lot to do with that). The success and appreciation still does not inspire Blaine to actually get up, however. He rolls onto his side and finds himself face-to-face with numerous framed photographs of Kurt and himself. _Before_ he would have smiled softly and thought about the instant each one was taken, _now_ however, is not then. Now, Blaine feels a deep-seated sickness wash over him and he forces himself to roll in the other direction. He still cannot bring himself to put the photographs out of sight – he cannot bring himself to allow such a semaphore. Instead he feels the photo-Kurt's eyes judging him accusingly for destroying their happiness. Destroying their forever.

_Enough of that!_

He forces his mind to blank-out. He has been getting a lot of practice at that particular meditation technique recently and it does not take long until his mind is clear. He allows his heart rate and breathing to slow focusing on nothingness. Then on the swirls behind his eyelids. On eyes. On eyes on him.

In his mind's eye he can see him clearly – tall, distinguished, and undeniably handsome. His hair is dark, greying slightly at the temples, but other than that there are no more real signs of his age other than the power of his presence. Such a glamor takes _years_ to achieve. Blaine finds that he is startled by just how well he can recall the man's countenance.

_Well, he was staring at me._

He feels a twinge in his gut that he did not get a chance to meet the man face-to-face. He realises dimly that he has no idea what the man's voice sounds like – whether it is deep and smooth, or soft. Perhaps it is rough with age and too many cigarettes? He also has no idea what the man's name was and that thought troubles him more than he expected it to. He reasons that _someone_ must have invited him and that therefore _someone_ was likely to have checked that bringing a guest would be acceptable beforehand. Blaine had received no such requests so that left Cooper who was due to fly back to Los Angeles that morning.

_Crap._

Blaine was out of bed and down the corridor so fast he almost fainted with the rush of blood to his head and was only saved from doing so by his colliding with something solid and angry.

'Jesus! I've not seen you move so fast since you were 6 and I fed you that entire tub of chocolate and that pint of Coke to spite the folks for making me babysit you. Where's the fire?'

Normally Blaine would have felt mortified for being caught in such an uncoordinated manner; however, he only felt the giddiness of relief. Perhaps he was still a little drunk.

'You! I'm so glad I caught you!' Blaine said as he untangled himself from his elder sibling.

'I think _I _caught you there, Squirt.'

'Semantics. Anyway – I wanted to ask you last night but we never had time – do you recall a tall gentleman, a bit younger than Dad and far better dressed?'

'Going to need a bit more than that there, Blainers. I don't tend to pay much attention to the cut of a man's suit.'

Blaine frowned at his sibling's joke at his expense and Cooper poked Blaine in the ribs in response. Upon receiving what Cooper knew to be Blaine's "bitch glare" (that Cooper knew for a fact Blaine had stolen from Kurt – not that now was the time to bring that up! Especially not on a day that Blaine had left his room of his own accord before 10am on a weekend! Perhaps the moping was over?), he decided to play nicely. His head, after all, was killing him and he really did need to leave within the next hour or so if he ever wanted to get back home.

'Fine, fine!' Cooper held his hands up in mock surrender. 'I think you mean Douglas Chambers – Roger's elder brother. Why do you ask?'

'Oh. I just didn't recognise him. Curiosity I suppose.'

Cooper raised an eyebrow in question, and when it became clear that Blaine had no intention of sharing his thoughts Cooper let out a long sigh.

'Drop the casual act. What do you want to know?'

'I was just wondering why we hadn't met before.' Blaine barely hid his grin.

'Ah, the tale of Lord Lucan!' Cooper winked. 'Turns out the black sheep of the Chambers family hath returned!'

Blaine raised an eyebrow in a mirror of Cooper's earlier expression.

'Douglas and the rest of the Chamberses had a big fall out about 15 years back – around the time Dad and Roger met. Not totally sure what the deal was but I always heard Roger refer to Douglas as Lord Lucan when we were growing up and so I thought he must have bumped off the nanny or something. Turns out he just disappeared – no murder. Really, not that interesting Blainers.'

'Yeah. Thanks, Coop.' Blaine only managed to conceal his feelings at the findings because he had yet to work out what his feelings actually were.

'Look, truth of the matter is – he's gay, like you. 15 years ago and in that generation people were a lot less accepting, you know?'

Blaine frowned as he processed what Cooper was telling him. Cooper seemed a little concerned and cleared his throat.

'Hey – you OK? You know we all love _you_, right?' Upon gaining no response from his sibling Cooper felt the need to clarify. 'Exactly as you are. Blaine?' Cooper waved his hand gently in front of Blaine's face snapping his attention back to the conversation at hand.

'Huh? Oh. Yeah. Of course. I know that. Don't worry – I'm not going to disappear for 15 years or something. Can't get rid of me that easily.'

'Good.' Cooper grinned. 'Right, I better head off. Still got to say bye to the parents – I've been avoiding disturbing them for as long as I could but there's no more putting it off.'

Blaine laughed and gave his brother a sympathetic look.

'I'll mourn you.'

'Thanks, Squirt!'

He groaned at Cooper's continued use of the awful nickname and watched as his brother headed towards the quarantined hangover zone. Blaine slowly headed back into his own room letting the knowledge his brother had imparted churn in his mind. Blaine had been aware of the stories of Lord Lucan – Uncle Roger's elusive brother (_and_ the real Lord Lucan after which Douglas had been nicknamed) - growing up, of course he had. Like Cooper, he and Roger's sons (specifically the eldest, originally also named Douglas as per the family tradition but known as "Doug", who was closest in age to Blaine) had made up horror stories starring the absent and mysterious man. Never had it occurred to Blaine that the reason Douglas had disappeared was that he had been effectively forced to due to reasons he could no more control than he could his own breathing. A flash of anger – blinding and brilliantly hot – flashed behind Blaine's eyes at the thought, chased quickly by shame at his childhood self and frustrated despair at the injustice and stupidity of society. There was something else – something ticklish that Blaine could not put his finger on too. It was something to do with how the man had been looking at Blaine. He shook his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts and resolved to make up for his childish stupidity - the fact that Douglas was:

a. highly unlikely to know of his own nephew (and said nephew's childhood friend)'s unfortunate misunderstanding of Douglas' situation

b. not likely to actually care

was not relevant. This was something he felt he had to do. He was not exactly sure _how_ he was going to make it up to Douglas – he was not about to try to _explain_ why he felt bad or anything, no – that would be horribly embarrassing, however, he figured he would know when he met him. Therein lay the first challenge – meeting Douglas. Perhaps now Douglas was seemingly reacquainted with his brother's family he would be around more? Blaine smiled – the answer was obvious – he needed to reconnect with Doug.

* * *

He wakes to the ghost of a melody – rich baritenor harmonising with fragments of half-recalled piano phrases. He struggles to recall the exact song but he remembers the quality of that voice with striking ease. Douglas cannot seem to get it out of his head – not that he has really tried. The opposite could be said to be closer to the truth; presently Douglas forgoes even the radio lest he should accidently erase the perfection that was Blaine's singing voice from his memory. Douglas had always been keen on music – he had been a Warbler when he had attended Dalton, and had continued to sing with choirs until he graduated from college. After that life got in the way a little, as it often does, and Douglas had put all of his effort into expanding the family business into New York. Any method of escapism was better than none at all, he muses. However, he had missed the way life music could move him – how the soul could be tapped and how it could transport you with it on a journey of emotions. Yes, Douglas had missed music, but he's not wholly sure that is entirely the reason he is obsessing over keeping that specific memory. In truth, the more he had learnt about the youngest Anderson the more he had found he wanted to know. He was fascinated by the boy's tenacity and bravery – he had not missed the thinly veiled reasons behind why _Blaine_ had been beaten by bullies, why the case had been settled _out of court_, why Blaine had transferred schools for _a boy_ who was going through something similar. He had become so finely tuned to the nuances and ways people discussed his "situation" and those of similar "persuasions" without actually _discussing_ it over the years – he thought he had probably encountered every variation at one time or another. So he had not missed the insinuation – Blaine had been bullied because he was _different_. Because he, like Douglas, was gay.

So, it was not hard for Douglas to find that he sympathised with the boy. He had spent the remainder of the party utilising the fact that no one really knew who he was or anything about him and the fact that the alcohol had been flowing rather freely (after Blaine and his brother had been swallowed by a gaggle of drunken aunts and uncles all begging for requests, effectively removing the possibility of an actual meeting) tactfully finding out everything he could, such as -

- Whether Blaine was "out":

'Oh! Yes – we met the boyfriend. Not sure what happened there – can't say we're that surprised though. The boy was as obvious as Liberace!'

- What his parents' responses had been:

'Bill was a bit unsettled. I mean you wouldn't think it to look at him would you – that he swings that way? I mean, he's always been into football! You know what I mean, right? Not that there's anything _wrong_ with being that way these days. Well – so long as you don't live in Russia – right?!'

- And whether Blaine had any "like minded" adult friends:

'Oh, I shouldn't think so! Not in _Ohio_!'

Douglas had had to bite his tongue on numerous occasions however, his attempts to garner more knowledge had been fruitful and he had eventually left the party for his hotel room with a plan beginning to form. Blaine clearly had no one to talk to about being a gay man in the 21st century, let alone, about being a gay _teenager_ in _Ohio_ of all places. Perhaps the last scotch had been one too many but Douglas had decided that he would stay close by for a couple of days longer than he had originally planned – after all, he had not yet spent much time getting to know his nephews – the last time he had seen little Doug the lad had been barely 4 years old, and the youngest had not even been born. Yes – he would stay and spend some time with the family.

He had stayed for 3 days in the end and had returned to New York with more information about young Blaine and a strange compulsion to still know more. It was this revelation that had led Douglas to leave in the end – Roger had started to question Douglas' interest in the youngest Anderson and Douglas had no real answer for him besides 'I find his tale compelling' and the unspoken _and so similar to my own_.

Doug had known Blaine since they were young – their fathers knew each other from business and so the kids had practically grown up together even though they had attended different schools. After Blaine was attacked (apparently the brave lad took another gay friend with him to a Sadie Hawkins Dance and some Jocks had taken exception to the pair) Roger had suggested Blaine be transferred to Dalton Academy – known for its no tolerance policy on bullying. Hence, Blaine had come to attend Dalton with Doug.

The more he had spoken with Doug, the more Douglas had come to like his young nephew. The lad was built like a granite block and, as such, looked like your typical jock – nothing like either Roger or his brother; however, Doug had inherited the family "cow" eyes – huge, dark and expressive. Doug had openly joked about how he had known Blaine was gay since they were kids – before even Blaine had really. Blaine had apparently developed a crush on Doug one summer and had coincidentally discovered a love for football around the same time Doug had been picked for the local team. The lads had spent hours over the long summers of their childhoods throwing around the ball – at first Doug had been cautious about being too rough with his friend but soon discovered that though Blaine was tiny: boy was he fast! Inevitably, Blaine's crush had faded as quickly as it had appeared and Doug still ribbed Blaine about _why_ he knew so much about football.

The topic eventually turned to Blaine's current schooling dilemma – stay at McKinley or return to Dalton. Doug was all for Blaine's return to Dalton and launched into what sounded like a pre-prepared speech about the merits of a private education over a state-funded one. Douglas encouraged Doug avidly and when he thought about it later he felt a degree of comfort on behalf of the youth that Blaine has at least one real friend with his best interests at heart.


	3. Chapter 3

**Dalton Redux**

* * *

He did not actually meet up with Doug until over a week later as things had picked up a little at McKinley. It was Tina that inadvertently nudged Blaine back on the path to reconciliation with his childhood friend. She had spent most days hinting none so subtly (and sometimes just straight out bluntly) whether Blaine had been in contact with Kurt. Part of him wished she would just find a boyfriend to distract her so she was not focused on his train wreck of a love-life and be done with it. Truth was that he had tried on numerous occasions to talk to Kurt since he and Rachel had left after the Grease performance, but each text went unanswered and each call went through to voicemail. Blaine was starting to get the hint. He did not exactly blame Kurt for wanting nothing more to do with him. Not after what he did. Blaine had started referring to Kurt as his '"ex" in an attempt to discourage Tina, but it was really because saying Kurt's name brought a lump to his throat. "Ex" was easier.

Ultimately it meant that he was unable to really talk to Tina about what the break-up was doing to him, and aside from Sam (who he had really only started to hang out with more since they ran together for Class President and Vice), he did not exactly have anyone to talk to. Cooper had been no help – not that they had really had much time to just _talk_ with planning the party. He found that he really needed a friend. A true friend. Sure, he had the rest of the New Directions but they all seemed so wrapped up in their own dramas, and he could not exactly talk to Finn… So, Blaine had text a number he really hoped still worked.

Doug had replied almost instantly by calling and they had ended up arranging to meet at the Lima Bean café after each of their respective after-school rehearsals finished – football (of course) for Doug and Glee for Blaine.

He had spent the rest of the day feeling a little more positive and had actually rather enjoyed chairing the Secret Society of Superheroes Club (even managing to mostly keep his cool when Tina text him on his "Night Phone" to ask _again_ about Kurt). That was until they had discovered that the Warblers had stolen the New Directions' Nationals trophy. Blaine had taken the theft personally – the Warblers had been his friends, even if things had been strained since he left (not to mention the rock salt slushie incident which almost cost him his eye). Still, he had thought that the theft was simply a cheap shot below the belt to ruffle the competition. He had not expected to find a new captain of the Warblers, Hunter (who was a tad dramatic even for Blaine's taste), and he had certainly not expected to discover that the theft had actually been a ploy to try to coerce Blaine into re-joining the Warblers. He had been caught off-guard by Sebastian, Nick, Jeff and the others encouraging him to sing with them again. It had been so easy to slip the familiar blazer back on, and to fall in-step with friends – their voices supporting his, their movements including him. He ached to feel something similar with the New Directions – but if anything he felt further from them than ever with each new addition to the group after the success of the musical. Blaine had managed to politely refuse the Warblers but the entire incident weighed heavily on his mind throughout the day and the next, and his mood had darkened by the time Glee practice began. He found himself growing agitated with Finn's fumbling during rehearsals. He kept hearing Hunter's voice

"_Don't you think it's time you came back where you belong, Blaine Warbler?" _

That was the question really – where did he belong? His parents had noticed how miserable he had been lately and had jumped on the opportunity to attempt to persuade him to transfer back to Dalton. His father had even made enquiries. But to Blaine it felt like quitting. Like running away _again_ – and he could not give in.

_What would Kurt say if you just ran away like you always do? You're such a hypocrite – you told him to have courage yet you have none._

Finn's attempt to awaken the competitive spirit of the group by referring to Sectionals as an "epic battle" brought Blaine back from his thoughts, but he could not bring himself to cheer or clap with his team mates. The speech had inspired nothing in Blaine – Finn looked like a lost boy struggling to tread water not the strong leader Blaine yearned to get behind.

As he drove to the Lima Bean that evening Blaine had purposely decided to keep all thoughts of Glee, Dalton, the Warblers and Kurt from his mind. The objective was to catch up with an old friend - nothing more. Not this time, at least. Perhaps he would even be able to find out about Doug's uncle and why he had suddenly reappeared – the mystery behind the endless possibilities distracted Blaine enough that by the time he pulled up and headed inside he was in a better mood.

Talking with Doug was as easy as it had always been – they talked about football and Doug's plans for graduation. Blaine skirted around the topic mentioning briefly ideas of performing arts schools in New York – apparently he said something wrong because it triggered a tirade from Doug about the Arts changing nothing and how the only way to change something these days was to go into Politics or Law. Doug had been one of the first people Blaine had come out to and he had always maintained their easy friendship. Nothing had changed. Well, aside from Doug's growing interest in gay rights. Blaine had forgotten how much he missed debating politics with Doug – they had used to rail against the stupidity and intolerance in the world – spending hours putting the world to rights. As the topic took a turn in that direction Blaine relaxed, thinking that Doug would drop the subject of what Blaine was going to do after graduation as he simply lacked the energy to fight. He was wrong.

'You care about gay rights, yeah? Then _do_ something about it - be a politician or a lawyer! Go back to Dalton, use the Old Boys' networks, and get in there – where the decisions are made. Where the power is. No one's saying you can't still sing and perform, B. But no one is going to make the changes we want to see in this dumb world unless we try ourselves. You've always been the smart one. You know I'm talking truths here.'

The words stay with Blaine for the rest of their catch-up even when the topic falls back into easier subjects like the latest films.

He spends that night staring at the ceiling, unable to stop Hunter and Doug's voices circling his mind like sharks.

Blaine zones out of the next Glee rehearsal barely paying any attention to the newer members' duets and petty feuds. He spends the day in a dark battle with himself – is going back to Dalton really running away if he is doing it to make a difference for future generations? Is longing to return to a place where you are wanted, accepted and appreciated – where you feel at home and belong – cowardly?

By the time he gets home that evening he knows what he needs to do. He talks to both his parents, and is relieved (but not exactly surprised) to find they whole-heartedly support him. He expected to feel better but he still finds a weight in his chest when he thinks about breaking the news of his transfer to the older members of the New Directions. He made a pact with Finn to back him up and he hates to break it – but he knows deep-down that he is making the right decision. Doug is right – he needs Dalton on his record, he needs the Old Boys' network, and he needs the status Dalton holds to have the best shot at really making a difference in the future. It still does not make the conversation easier and Blaine knows Finn will take it as abandonment – as Blaine running away. It feels like he is breaking up with Finn, as ridiculous as that sounds.

He manages to find Finn alone with Mr Schuster's mock-up of the set, choreographing. Well – attempting to at least. Blaine comes clean about singing with the Warblers and tries to keep the conversation to how Blaine misses his friends there – avoiding any potential to accidently insult Finn by implying McKinley is not a good enough school. Blaine is right though – Finn does not understand – he thinks it is about Kurt, and it is in a way; Blaine's not stupid enough to think that it is not. So he plays the Kurt card once his initial tactic fails – it is not as if it is not partly true so he does not have to act too hard to try to help Finn understand. Finn has, after all, recently experienced his own break-up so this is at least a concept he can understand. The discussion is messy and Blaine wanted it to be neater – he had a speech planned and everything, but in the end the result is the same.

When he recounts the tale to Doug afterwards Blaine vaguely recalls calling the Warblers his "birth right and destiny" which results in his friend cackling for a good ten minutes uncontrollably. Blaine is sure he catches the words "dramatic", "ass", and "priceless" but he cannot be 100% certain.

'If it helps – you're doing the right thing, B.'

'I know. It does help though. Thanks.'

'It's going to be so awesome to have you back. When do you start?'

'Monday.'

'Sweet. Any plans for the weekend?'

'What are you suggesting?'

He hears the huff of Doug's breath down the line.

'I thought you could come up to Dalton and we could have a kind of "Welcome Home" celebration…?'

Blaine laughs and he feels so much lighter.

'That would actually be really nice.'

His face hurts from smiling as they sign-off and Blaine places his phone back in his pocket as he heads towards his locker – only one thing left to do. His smile fades slightly as he empties his locker into the small box – his life at McKinley takes up so little room. He almost walks into Sam as he finishes up. He wonders how Sam found out so quickly and a part of him admires Sam's optimism but he notes the pleading edge to his voice as he asks whether Blaine's transfer is part of some master plan to get the trophy back from the Warblers.

The conversation with Sam shakes Blaine more than he thought it would. Like Finn, Sam assumes that Blaine's transfer is really about Kurt and Blaine somehow ends up telling Sam about cheating on Kurt and how he felt immediately after he knew he had destroyed his relationship. Blaine feels the hurt, despair, guilt and frustration he had been keeping at bay (barely) for weeks bubble up as he talks and marvels at Sam's simplistic view that he has to move on.

'That's exactly what I am doing, Sam.'

'Then why does it look an awful lot like running away?'

The words seem more real out loud and Blaine breaks. Sam knows he said the wrong thing and immediately tries to back-pedal but Blaine cuts him off.

'I'm not running away, Sam. I'm going _home_.'

'But this is your home - _here_.'

'Sam, I appreciate it – I really do, but I need to do this for me. OK? I came here for Kurt and at the time I told him that I was doing it for him but deep-down we both knew it was because I wanted to be close to him. Anyway – it's already done. The paperwork went through this morning and I start on Monday.'

'Dude, you got to give me one day – one day to show you you belong here.'

'It's done, Sam.'

'So you really are going to just walk away?'

'I have to.'

'I don't buy it. You're a good person, Blaine, and exiling yourself to Dalton is not going to fix anything.'

'That's the point. I'm not trying to fix anything – I can't fix it. I tried. All I'm doing is going back where I belong. Goodbye, Sam. Rule wisely – don't forget you're the president now.'

It takes more strength than he thought he was capable of to turn away and walk to his car. He half expects Sam to follow – or perhaps Tina or one of the others – for someone to fight for him to stay. No one follows him.

By the time he gets home he feels drained – technically school was not supposed to finish for another couple of hours so he is home alone and his mind is buzzing as it replays each conversation. Analysing. Torturing him with how he could have handled things better – what he should have said. He groans in frustration. He dials Kurt's number before he even processes that he _cannot _anymore – it was his default action for so long. He counts it as a punishment now every time his call goes unanswered – another tick against the list in his mind declaring him pathetic and unworthy. The click as the call is accepted on the other side causes his heart to leap into his mouth but it is Rachel's voice on the other end.

'Stop calling, Blaine.'

One sentence and then the line goes dead.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Faint**

* * *

He laughs at the thought that transferring back to Dalton was running away – in truth it is so much harder than he imagined. Whereas in McKinley it was the choir room and the auditorium, here it is the curving stairs, the wood-panelled rehearsal rooms, the little coffee shop… It does not matter where he is – there is always a little part of Kurt there that he cannot escape. The only difference in that regard is that, back at Dalton, he has a lot more distractions.

Blaine's return to the Warblers is hugely ceremonial and the party they throw him in conjunction with Doug is spectacularly over the top. Hunter has them salute him and Blaine, red-faced, has to plead with them to never do that again. At first everything is heightened – everyone goes out of their way to welcome Blaine back into the fold and to reassure him that none of them think he will turncoat again. Blaine supervises the handover of the trophy back to the New Directions and is unsurprised when he receives no warmth in return. However, he finds he misses the self-expression that the lack of a uniform at McKinley had granted him – he laughs now at how intimidated he had felt at having to choose his own outfit each day (regardless of what Cooper says – Kurt only _helped_ at first!). The uniform at Dalton feels like a second skin but he finds he has outgrown the need to blend into the background – he has no more need for the unanimity and no real desire to conform. He thinks that he is beginning to truly understand Kurt's frustrations with Dalton now and he finds the whole thing a little hilarious. He conforms though, because it is required of him and it is the right thing to do. He acts the poster boy as he is expected to. He concentrates on his grades and sends off applications to the big colleges – he chooses law as his major.

Sectionals approaches fast and Blaine ensures that they go through the motions of open auditions (even if the result does not change) – he feels the he is somehow honouring Kurt to do so. That he is somehow making a difference. He gets on surprisingly well with Hunter at first, however, he quickly grows frustrated that Hunter is merely placating him by letting Blaine hold auditions and going with any and every song Blaine suggests. The tension bubbles beneath the surface until Blaine snaps first – he had enquired after Trent's absence from the group and upon receiving no satisfying answer he had sought him out. Trent had told Blaine about Hunter's steroid regime and Blaine had immediately singled out first Sebastian, then Nick, then Jeff, to corroborate Trent's story. When Blaine confronts Hunter it all blows up so quickly that the assembled group is stunned into silence. Hunter throws the first punch and Blaine, thankfully, has the presence of mind to force his fists down and exit the room rather than knock Hunter down and out as his body screams for him to. It is Sebastian who follows him first, though the others quickly follow.

Once they had cooled off Hunter approaches Blaine and steps down as the leader of the Warblers. The assembled members elect Blaine as his successor without hesitation and as his first act Blaine puts a blanket ban on all performance enhancers and accepts the role, but does not expel Hunter to much confusion and surprise. Afterwards, Hunter approaches Blaine in private and thanks him, and Blaine feels able to breathe a little easier for the first time since returning to Dalton's halls.

As the competition approaches Blaine finds that he has less free-time to spend with Doug – he feels the familiar flutter of guilt in his gut and endeavours to make more time for his friend. Doug suggests he simply hang out with the Warblers more – one or two of them are on his team as it is anyway. Blaine finds it a little strange to see his worlds colliding and stranger still to think that now, Doug, Sebastian and Hunter could all be lumped together into the 'best friend' label. The four spend most of their time together – either in the same classes, hanging out after practices, or simply relaxing at one or the others' house playing video games or watching movies. Blaine feels the tension start to leave his shoulders. He starts to relax.

* * *

'You smile more now – it looks good on you.'

Blaine raises an eyebrow at Sebastian as he reaches across Hunter for the popcorn.

'You coming on to me again, Bas, because I thought we were past this?' Blaine grins as Sebastian throws popcorn at his friend's head.

'No. You are far too high maintenance for me.'

Blaine mock-acts shocked hurt and Hunter cracks up with laughter as a popcorn projectile hits Blaine square in the pout.

'Hey! Watch his eyes, Bas!' Doug joins in and throws popcorn back at Sebastian in defence of his friend.

'How many times are you going to bring that up! Geez! I _still _feel awful about that!' Sebastian grimaces.

Blaine laughs good humouredly as Sebastian aims for Doug whilst clocking Hunter right between the eyes with his own shot. Hunter growls.

'Oh, that's it!'

Hunter pins Blaine in a fluid movement knocking the air from his lungs – not that Blaine could breathe through the laughter before anyway.

'Bas – grab the bowl!' Hunter shouts over his shoulder as he holds Blaine's wriggling body against his.

'Doug! Help!' Blaine manages to get out but he knows it is pointless when he realises Hunter's plan. 'You're just going to watch aren't you?'

Doug laughs and nods as Sebastian pours the contents of the bowl over Blaine's head.

* * *

Douglas hears from Doug about once a week – it's nice to slowly get to know his eldest nephew and he finds they have a lot in common. He thinks Doug gets as much out of the conversations as he does, at least he hopes so. He's glad he can act as a mentor for him – an adult friend.

Of course it has nothing to do with the fact that Doug spends so much of the conversation waxing lyrical about Blaine – how he transferred back to Dalton on Doug's advice, how he re-joined the Warblers and broke Hunter's rule of tyranny and then unified them once more. And today - how he and his friends had a popcorn fight whilst watching a movie and how pleased he was that his friend actually seemed happy again – so far removed from the shell who met with him in the Lima Bean. No, learning about Blaine was just a happy side-effect. Douglas was just happy to learn that Blaine seemed to be back on track.

Douglas spends his free time, little as there is of it, at the branch of the Old Boys' club in New York – he reacquaints himself with school friends on a nostalgic whim he blames wholeheartedly on his young nephew. He slowly gets to know each old chum again – what they do now (generally they already know what Douglas does), how their health is, significant others, etc. All the usual small talk he used to balk from and had no time for before.

Doug pressures Douglas to join his family for Thanksgiving, reminding his uncle that it is rapidly approaching – it had been so long since Douglas celebrated that he accepts on the spot – on the proviso that he confirms with Roger first. Doug's childish _whoop!_ fills Douglas with a bubbly feeling he cannot wholly explain and it only grows when he hears the invite repeated sincerely from his brother's lips.

So it is with an odd feeling of lightheaded-heaviness that Douglas arrives the evening before Thanksgiving at his brother's house, and so was present when Doug received a call at the dinner table on the day itself. Doug had kept on about his desire to support his friends at their competition but his mother and father had put their feet down. Douglas had felt bad for the boy and Doug's nervous anxiety and anticipation as the time for the performances to start came and went that when his phone went off even he jumped. The gathered adults had quickly given Doug permission to leave the table to take the call – Douglas supposes they could not have been as immune to Doug's jumpy energy as they had seemed.

When the youth returns to the table he looks pained and his half-mumbled 'they won' does nothing to explain the terrible crashing sensation Douglas feels in his chest.

* * *

Blaine feels as if he is soaring as he leaves the stage surrounded by equally buzzed and sweaty friends. He urges his team to be quiet as they creep back into the auditorium to take their seats to watch the rest of the competition, and he pretends the tickle in his belly is residual nerves from his own performance and not for his old colleagues the New Directions.

The New Directions finally take their positions and Blaine notices both Sebastian and Hunter staring at him. He tries to ignore them but he knows that they can probably hear his heart hammering in his chest. As the music begins a ripple of mixed emotion flows through the audience – the song choice is bold and Blaine wonders how Finn managed to convince the group to go with it. Tina and the others do a good job of the song and Blaine is mildly surprised by Jake's dance skills – he manages to keep up with Brittany, however, that's when everything goes wrong. Marley faints and Blaine is on his feet and running towards the choir room where he knows everyone will gather before he can process that he is moving. He doesn't feel Sebastian's fingers on his arm or hear Hunter shout for him to come back. He blindly runs, making it to the room as the majority of the New Directions do with Marley. He hears Kitty ask if anyone has something Marley can eat.

'I may have a juice box!' Blaine has seen performers pass out due to exhaustion before – it is not uncommon so he usually has something on him in case of emergency. He turns to run back to find his bag and almost collides with Finn.

'What do you think you're doing?'

'Helping.' Blaine feels Finn use his height and subconsciously squares himself in response. He mentally berates himself for running in to help his competitors blind. He should have known he was not exactly going to be welcomed with open arms even if he was only acting out of concern.

'We don't need your help.'

'Finn, just let him get the damn juice.' Blaine should have known it would be Sam to come to his corner. He walks around Finn and sees Hunter and Sebastian – Sebastian is holding the juice box in question and he wordlessly passes it to Blaine. His friends' expressions are hard to read and Blaine just nods his thanks and then passes the drink to Sam. He thinks he sees a flicker of something in Sam's eyes but the blonde turns to help Marley before Blaine has a chance to identify it.

'There. Thanks for the juice. Now go.' Finn's voice is not as calm as he evidently tries to make it and it is only then that Blaine realises that not only the rest of the New Directions are staring at him – but also the old New Directions: Mike, Santana, Quinn, Mercedes – they are all looking right at him.

'You should go, Blaine.' Mike's voice is soft but firm and somehow Blaine finds it in himself to re-join Hunter and Sebastian in the hall outside. As soon as he leaves the room the spell is broken and the New Directions return to their panicked fussing over Marley. He hears a few voices rise and swears that he catches Sam's voice over the others.

'He was only trying to help!'

Sebastian's hand on his shoulder is firm and strong and guides Blaine back to auditorium and their seats. They sit in silence for a while as the auditorium gossips of the scandal they were witness to around them. Blaine prays that the New Directions get back on the stage to finish their set but they never do and the Warblers are announced the winners.

The bus ride home barely contains a furious buzzing that only grows as they get closer to Dalton. Sebastian and Hunter remain eerily quiet and a tight knot of dread settles in his gut. He is not surprised when it is Hunter that beckons him to follow him into a side room as Sebastian leads the others into their rehearsal rooms to celebrate – even if it is in name only.

Blaine forces himself to meet Hunter's eyes and is surprised to see pity in them.

'I'm sorry that they reacted like that.'

Blaine knows Hunter is referring to the scene he witnessed between the New Directions and the captain of the Warblers. He sighs.

'Yeah – well, I made my bed. I just didn't think. I should have just stayed in the auditorium with you guys.'

'Yeah, you should have. But you're a good man, Blaine.'

'I don't exactly feel "good" right now.'

They settle back into silence – it still feels heavy somehow and Blaine absently watches dust particles as they spring free from the sofa Hunter drops into. His legs are heavy and he collapses next to Hunter – all fight drained from him.

'I'm sorry we all forced you to choose.'

Again, it is Hunter who breaks the silence. Blaine shakes his head sadly but says nothing.

'You can't make everyone happy, Blaine. You cannot be friends with everyone. Eventually you have to choose. I'm glad you chose us.'

Hunter stands slowly and leaves Blaine alone in the room. He sinks further into the supple leather and breathes in the scent of beeswax. It used to feel like home.


	5. Chapter 5

**Spiralling Snowflakes**

* * *

He sits surrounded by manuscript paper in front of the piano in the practice room – his face is marred by the frown of concentration and his shoulders are hunched. He taps a pencil against his teeth as he experiments with a phrase on the ivories. Once he is happy with the sound he scrawls the notes across the paper and moves onto the next section – it needs to be perfect. Their chances of winning Regionals depend on it.

After their win at Sectionals (Blaine does not really consider it a win – they pretty much won by default) he will be damned if he does not give it his all so they have best chance of getting through to Nationals. He could not find an arrangement he was happy with for the number he thinks they should open with so he sets about creating his own version. It proves a good distraction really – his friends had been treating him a bit like bone china and it had been driving him crazy. At least this way he has a reason to spend time alone in peace without Doug, Sebastian and Hunter's constant _looks_. Blaine rolls his eyes, drops his pen onto the music stand, and stretches his arms and shoulders out wincing at the audible clicks and pops from his tortured joints. He yawns and he glances at the gilt clock on the mantelpiece – 8pm, he decides to give it another hour and then he'll head home. He spreads the slightly crumpled pages of manuscript paper out and plays through the score, pencil held loosely between his teeth. It takes him longer than perhaps it should to detect the gentle hum of his cell phone and he darts across the room to pick up the call, answering without checking the caller ID. He figures it is his parents wondering where he is, or perhaps Doug. He does not expect to hear the deep tones of Burt Hummel.

'Hey, Anderson. I know it's late and this is a bit out of the blue I just…I was wondering whether you could come over for dinner sometime this week?'

'Uh, hi, Burt! Um…I'd love to but I'd…I think that's probably not a great idea –'

'Is this about Finn? Sam told me what happened at Sectionals. Look, I'll be straight with you – I'm not going to pretend to understand why you transferred back, but I'd like you to tell me about it.'

Blaine lets out a nervous huff – he is glad he does not have to explain to Burt or come up with some half-truth.

'Thanks.'

'So – how about that dinner?'

Blaine agrees to show the next night and, even though Burt does not keep him on the phone much longer, when Blaine finally hangs up he feels utterly exhausted. He glances over at the piano and resigns himself to the fact that he will get no more work done that evening. He packs up and heads home – he knows he is not going to rest until he finds out what Burt really wants to talk to him about. He knows it is not to find out about Blaine's transfer – that was months ago. He tries not to dwell on it – he really does. He tries not to get his hopes up. He tries to keep topics Burt may want to talk to him about separate from the fact that Burt is his ex's father. He does not succeed because the only things he can think Burt may want to talk to him about are so unlikely Blaine makes himself laugh:

- the Buckeyes: Burt has Finn to talk to about sports, he doesn't need Blaine for that. Also – not really a dinner kind of thing.

- restoring cars: Burt's a mechanic.

- gay rights: Burt and he had discussed politics many times before. But why now?

So that leaves talking about what happened weeks ago at Sectionals, or Blaine's transfer.

_Or Kurt_.

* * *

Despite his best efforts to not obsess over what the senior Hummel could want to discuss over dinner, Blaine is a jittery mess. He arrives early despite changing his mind over what to wear at least 3 times – he does not dare think about the state he left his room in. He waits on the porch and forces himself to keep his hands still; the bottle of wine he decided to bring with him (less formal than flowers for Carole) helps some. He catches the scent of roast meat and something sweet as the door opens to reveal Burt. The man has not changed since the last time Blaine saw him – he pulls Blaine into a bone-crushing hug and Blaine melts a little as he breathes in the thick scent of aftershave and the undertone of motor oil that is so _Burt_. Blaine feels Burt pull back, but he leaves an arm draped across Blaine's shoulders as he leads him into the house that had become so familiar.

'I brought a little something.' Blaine offers and Burt's smile is genuine as he takes the bottle.

'Thanks.' He gestures for Blaine to go through to the living room and disappears into the kitchen. Blaine hears muffled voices and tries not to eavesdrop as he removes his coat and hangs it in the hall before making his way through and taking a seat. Burt appears before Blaine can dwell too much and hands Blaine a bottle of beer – the real stuff. Blaine opens his mouth to comment but promptly shuts it when Burt gives him a pointed look which says that this is definitely a conversation that requires beer. Blaine takes the bottle as Burt settles heavily next to him. They clink their bottles together and each take a quiet sip.

'We should probably do this now – before dinner.' Burt's voice gives nothing away and Blaine nods. 'There's no easy way to say this kid so I'm going to come out and say it.'

The words are ice water to Blaine's bowels and he runs every worst-case scenario through his head in a desperate attempt to steel himself for whatever terrible news Burt has for him. He feels panic rise in his chest and he has to know the answer immediately.

'It's not Kurt is it?'

'No. It's not Kurt.' There's a faint smile to Burt's voice but it does not reach his eyes. Burt looks sad and Blaine does not take any comfort in the elder man's admission. 'It's me.'

Blaine frowns when Burt does not continue. He meets Burt's eyes and holds his gaze. Burt seems to be searching for something and Blaine takes a breath and lays himself open. Eventually Burt continues and the words seem to hang pregnant, poisonous and so painfully tangible in the air.

'I have cancer.'

Blaine's mouth goes dry and he marvels at how calm Burt seems. Burt takes a swig of his beer and Blaine forces himself to do the same.

'I know – it is just as shocking to hear as it is to say. Somehow it makes it more real.' Burt continues quietly. 'We caught it early and I'm going to fight it with everything I've got, but Kurt – he told you about his mom, right?'

Blaine nods numbly; he feels disjointed, as if he is floating. He tries to put together what he knows about the disease and what he sees in front of him – Burt looks healthy. He looks exactly as he did the last time Blaine saw him. He does not look like a man with cancer.

'Look, I don't know exactly what happened between you two, but I do know you are important to him. He's going to need you to help him through this, Blaine.'

'He…he's not exactly talking to me right now.'

'I know.'

'He has…he's got Rachel –'

'She's not the friend you've been to him. You know that, I know that and he knows that. She's lovely, don't get me wrong – but I feel she gets a bit more out of that friendship than he does. But that's not the point. Look – he's adamant he's spending Christmas in New York and he's spending it alone because Rachel's going off with her Dads on some cruise or something. I'm going to head out there to surprise him and I'd like you to come with me.'

* * *

His fingers are numb and he cannot feel his nose but none of that matters because he is going to see Kurt. Kurt who will have just found out about his father's cancer. Kurt who has already had to deal with so much in his short life. Blaine's heart aches – he longs to be able to shoulder all the pain, the fear, the doubt and sorrow, for him. He makes another lap of the ice to keep warm whilst keeping an eye out for Kurt.

Time passes like treacle until Blaine suddenly spots him – he has not yet noticed Blaine. He takes a moment to study Kurt – his cheeks are glowing from the cold, as is his nose, but he does not look like he has been crying. Blaine is not surprised – it is so very Kurt to hold everything inside. He was always the brave one.

He takes a breath and makes his way over across the ice.

'Delivery for Kurt Hummel.'

The words hang in the air between them and Blaine cannot stop a hopeful smile from gracing his features. It is not long lived.

'Blaine?'

Kurt's voice is sharp with disappointment and thinly veiled horror. Blaine's world crashes around him as his worst fears are realised – he knew it was a bad idea when Burt had suggested it but he had somehow let the senior Hummel convince him that Kurt would be _happy_ to see him. The expression on Kurt's face was anything but.

'I'm going to kill him. What the hell do you think you are doing? What were you _both _thinking? Were you even thinking at all?' Kurt's voice raises in pitch as the volume rises and Blaine knows he has a very, very short amount of time to try to talk Kurt down.

'Your dad flew me out here – he wanted you to have a friend around to talk to when he told you.'

'He told you before he told me?' Kurt's voice drops low and Blaine realises his mistake too late. 'Of course he did. Look, Blaine, I appreciate that you both seem to think you know what's best for me but you both have a pretty damn funny way of showing it. You are the last person I need to talk to right now, Blaine. The. Last. Person. I can't do this right now. I just can't.' Kurt turns on his heel and is striding away on his impossibly long legs before Blaine even manages to yank his skates off and vault the barrier – oblivious to the angry attendants, oblivious to the fact that the ground is freezing and he is only wearing socks. He needs to catch up with Kurt – he _needs _to. He cannot leave him like this on Christmas Eve.

'Kurt!' He calls after him as he runs. He does not expect Kurt to stop on the spot and spin to face him but he is expecting the full force of Kurt's piercing blue eyes.

'Listen to me very carefully. I do not want to hear it, Blaine. You are the last person I want to see right now – you and I are not OK. I do not trust you and I do not want to hear another apology. I know you are sorry. I get it. But I don't forgive you and I am not sure I want to right now. I _just _found out the one person I love most in the world has _cancer_. I don't want to talk about it.'

'Kurt, I –'

'Say it. Go on. Say you're sorry again, Blaine.'

He snaps his mouth shut and Kurt narrows his eyes.

'Go on. How are you going to make this better? What was the plan? We'd sing a flirty little Christmas duet perhaps? Get some hot chocolate, perhaps, then head back to the loft and have a postcard worthy Christmas dinner? How terribly domestic.'

Blaine draws his lips together into a fine line as Kurt hits the nail on the head. He has been an utter idiot. This is not how it was meant to go – Kurt's version is exactly what Blaine had dared to hope would happen.

'Grow up, Blaine - life is not a fairytale. You of all people should know that.' Kurt hisses the words at him. Blaine wraps his arms around himself, shrinking under Kurt's attack. He does not even offer up an apology.

'You are right. You are completely right.' Blaine manages to get the words out before he forces himself to turn away.

'Yes, run away. You're so good at it.'

He spins around to face Kurt again and catches the fire that sparks in the blue orbs he once looked upon as if they held all the answers to the questions of the universe. Kurt's face cracks with a smile and Blaine almost growls.

'I am not running away.'

'You always run away – you ran away from us at the first sign of trouble just like you ran away from the New Directions and our friends when they needed you. Deny it. Go on.'

'Don't-'

'I used to think you were so strong, Blaine. You were this god at Dalton – so sure of yourself and your sexuality. Playing the mentor. I looked up to you…' Kurt's features soften and he takes a breath. 'You told me once that you don't know what you're doing. You were right. You don't have a clue do you?' Kurt looks down and kicks his boot against the curb.

The silence deafens them both as the words spin between them. Blaine somehow remains standing, somehow keeps breathing, but he cannot find a single word. He was not prepared for Kurt. Kurt was right – he was living in a fairytale. His vision blurs and he finds that, yes, there is a new low – he forces himself not to cry. He cannot cry in front of Kurt. He just cannot.

'Goodbye, Blaine.'

It is whispered – all anger burnt away by his earlier tirade. Blaine can do nothing but watch as Kurt walks away from him.

* * *

He's not sure when he started walking, or when the tears finally began to fall – he hardly notices as the architecture styles around him change, as the neighbourhoods degrade. He felt his cell phone vibrate a number of times – a dim thought surfaces that it is probably Burt and that he should answer – let him know he's OK or something. But he is not OK. He is anything but OK so he ignores the buzzing. Eventually, whoever it was stops calling. He loses track of time completely – he supposes it is the early hours of Christmas day by now. He keeps walking blindly and it is only when he feels a sharp pain in his foot and then a hot wetness, that he realises that he never collected his shoes. He hobbles to a bench and examines the wound to the sole of his foot – fortunately it is not too deep. Must have been glass.

The sight of the blood seeping through his sock somehow wakes him and he starts to laugh. A homeless man across the street swears at him. Blaine somehow resists the urge to swear back and digs out his cell phone from his pocket instead. He clears the missed calls from Burt but opens the text message. The text is short and Blaine can picture Burt frowning with concentration as he composes the message on the tiny screen of his phone. Burt offers him a hotel room and his apologies. Blaine sends a text back thanking Burt but declining – he does not deserve any kindness from the man, not after what he must be dealing with. He concludes the message by asking if Kurt got back OK – there is no point in asking how Kurt is. He stares at the screen while he waits, dimly aware that perhaps, he is not in a neighbourhood where sitting with his phone out so prominently is a brilliant idea. He squashes the thought – daring the universe to make things worse.

Burt's affirmative reply calms Blaine a little and he shoots back a quick message of thanks. He stares at the phone for a while before he notices he has started to shiver and that he cannot actually feel his extremities. He glances around and realises that he has no idea where he actually is – aside from somewhere in New York on a bench. He tries to stand and winces as pain flares through his injured foot. He sits down again.

He unlocks his phone and scrolls through his contacts until he sees a familiar name and dials.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thin Ice**

* * *

He exits the taxi at the address Doug text him, keeping as much weight as he could off his injured foot, and takes in his surroundings after paying the cabbie. 5th Avenue was the last place he had expected to end up at 4am on Christmas morning. The fringe of trees that signal the boundary of Central Park glow almost eerily, strung as they are with lights, and giant snowflakes garnish the imposing buildings blinking slowly at him. He glares at them – they are too jovial and jar with his mood right now. He limps awkwardly towards the building the gruff cab driver had pointed him in and grimaces as the icy wind bites his face – he had only just begun to regain feeling in his fingers thanks to the heaters in the cab (he has lost hope of feeling his toes for now – anyway the numbness helps dull the pain of his injury).

The doormen wear forest green uniforms with polished brass buttons that remind him of watching _Cinderella_ pantomimes as a child, and he is mildly surprised that they get the door for him without the slightest hint that they are judging his dishevelled and shoeless appearance. Whoever's address he is at probably called down to let them know to expect him, Blaine supposes, as they do not seem surprised to see a stranger at this hour. He anxiously runs a hand through his hair in a vain attempt to make himself look a little more presentable - at least he was well dressed (barring his present lack of footwear). He is directed towards the lift – an art deco affair in gleaming brass and enamel – and one of the doormen, noticing Blaine's slow progress, enquires kindly as to whether or not he can call a doctor to attend to Blaine's apparent injury. He thanks the older gentleman for his concern but politely declines – his breeding and ingrained manners kicking into overdrive – after glancing to make sure he was not trailing blood across the marble. The lift doors slide closed with a whisper and he hardly notices that he has moved at all as the lift takes him up and up and up, all the way to the penthouse. He re-reads the text message – Doug had not said who it was that he was sending Blaine to and the text message contains no clues, only the address which Blaine had had to re-read three times before he could take in the fact that his friend was sending him to see someone on the Upper East Side. On Christmas morning. At silly-o'clock.

Doug had actually seemed genuinely concerned by Blaine's mental state as he had recounted the goings on at the ice-rink and what had transpired between Kurt and himself. He had berated his own stupidity and pathetic optimism and Doug had hardly spoken a word other than to tell him to go to the address he was about to send him via text message. Blaine took a deep breath, richly scented as it was with Brasso, lilies and crisp linen - it reminded Blaine of a funeral parlour and did nothing to calm his already frayed nerves. The doors slid open with a gentle _whoosh_ and he found himself hobbling down a short corridor towards a grand set of double doors decorated with stylised water lilies in a motive repeated subtly, both in the white moulding around the ceilings, and in the marquetry that made up the highly polished floor. He could not see an obvious door knocker or doorbell so he raised his fist in preparation to knock – praying that this was the correct address and that Doug had not chosen now to play some sort of devilish trick on him. He was not expecting the doors to open before he signalled his arrival and he certainly was not expecting to see _him_.

* * *

The shrill bells of his 1950's Bakelite phone had woken him with a start and he had groped to answer it with shaking hands - his heart racing like he had just run a marathon; heavy and pounding in his chest. The only reason someone would call at this godforsaken hour was to impart bad news. He could barely hear over the racing roar of his pulse as he listened to the slight crackle on the line and the sound of someone's breath. Doug had been quick to reassure his uncle that, no - no one had died, and no - he was not _trying_ to give his uncle a heart attack, and yes – he was aware what time it was. Douglas struggled to force his breathing to return to normal as he let his nephew talk – _Blaine_ was alone in New York on Christmas morning and had nowhere to go. Something had happened and the lad was friendless and in a bad way, and as Douglas was the only person Doug knew in New York would he be able to do Doug a "hunormous" favour and take Blaine in for the night? Douglas had had to stop himself from blurting "yes" as soon as he had heard Blaine's name – he had forced himself instead to listen to Doug's concerns for his friend's wellbeing, and had let his nephew apologise for the umpteenth time for calling at such an antisocial hour. He eventually assured Doug that it would be no hassle at all and, of course, any friend of Doug's was a friend of Douglas'. Doug had been so grateful Douglas' heart had ached for him – he could only imagine what it would be like to care so much for someone else's wellbeing.

Douglas dictates his address for Doug to give Blaine and then has Doug read it back to him so he is certain that his nephew has taken it down correctly. He then lets Doug ring off and falls backwards onto his bed, suddenly and utterly boneless. His hands are still shaking and his breathing is unsteady and he passes it off as a mixture of shock from being woken from a deep, though dreamless, sleep in the early hours of the morning and anxiety for his nephew's friend. From the sounds of things he was not in a good place mentally, and Doug had sounded so genuinely concerned… Douglas takes a deep breath then takes stock of the situation – his housekeeper is, naturally, unavailable – it is Christmas and he is not due to see her again until the 27th (January 2nd if he can help it – the woman works too hard and he is more than capable of coping by himself over the holiday). He pads his way through his apartment and pokes his head into one of the guest bedrooms – he finds it made-up and releases a little sigh of relief as he would have no real clue where to start to look for fresh sheets. That is one thing taken care of at least.

It is then he notices that he is not exactly clothed appropriately to meet someone for the first time – someone he had spent hours openly _ogling_ at a party even though he had not been formally introduced (he still blames the whiskey). He blushes at the thought and hurries back across the apartment to his sprawling rooms to dress.

He finds that he cannot sit still and makes his way to the kitchen for a coffee so he can attempt to make himself feel a little more human. In hind-sight tea would have probably been more suitable as his nerves are already firing on overtime like live electrical cables in a bucket of water, and caffeine is not exactly going to help that situation any. The rich smell of the beans as he grinds them helps to ground him a little however, and he manages to stock the fancy and over-complex machine without spilling everything everywhere, despite his trembling fingers. He glances at the vintage station clock across the room (a happy find during a site renovation he worked on when he had first moved to the city) and frowns a little – the lad must have been really far away. Alternately finding a cab on Christmas morning may have proven a challenge. Douglas frowns as he takes a sip of the hot, bitter liquid – perhaps he should have told Doug that he would send someone to collect Blaine? Anything could have happened to him by now! He should have called down – Gerry and Brian were on duty tonight and they both knew Douglas well enough to call a driver for him with no awkward questions. He winces at the thought of trying to explain why a teenager was making his way to his apartment in the early hours of the morning. If it had been one of the newer guys - Greg or Markus, for example - they would surely have raised an eyebrow, but Gerry and Brian had been at the building since Douglas had first moved there. He sent a quick prayer to anyone who was listening in thanks – the last thing he needed was gossip. It was then that he remembered that he really needed to let them know to expect Blaine downstairs and to send him right up. He called down to pass on the message and was grateful that he detected no surprise or scandal in Brian's deep voice. Brian was not the type to ask questions and it was not as if Douglas often had young men visit his rooms. In fact, Douglas could count the number of people he had had to visit him (clients he preferred to meet in his offices) on one hand in the 10 years he had lived there.

As time passed he became more and more aware of the metallic _scrape-tick_ of the old clock, and he poured himself a second cup of coffee - more to give himself something to do with his hands than anything else. He ran a hand through his slightly sleep tousled hair and glanced at his reflection in the spotless oven as he did so and was marginally pleased with what he saw – he did not look as wild-eyed and frantic as he felt on the inside. He tried to distract himself from the nervousness of waiting by flicking idly through some designs he had brought home from the office with him that were now spread haphazardly across the glass dining table top. He found himself looking through them more than at them and he eventually closed his eyes in frustration. This was not how he had imagined finally meeting Blaine – how could one simply extend a hand and invite someone into their private space when they knew nothing of one another? Well, Douglas mused, he knew quite a lot – more than he should really, from Doug's constant commentary, but, that aside, the only time Douglas had actually been in the same room as Blaine was at that party. They were truly strangers.

_What must he think of me - the strange uncle of his friend who stared at him all evening without even saying "hello"?_

He shook his head lightly and reminded himself why Blaine was making his way (hopefully) to Douglas' in the first place – the lad was stranded in New York and had just had a rather nasty argument with his ex on Christmas Eve. Douglas took the opportunity to re-centre himself – to push all his fears and worries to the side – to make himself open and ready to help his nephew's friend. Nothing mattered right now apart from doing what he could to ensure Blaine's comfort and safety.

The brief buzz of the intercom alerted Douglas that Blaine must have arrived and he made his way across the suite to the large double doors that led onto the small private landing that served as the entrance to his penthouse. He stared for a moment at the ornate carvings and marvelled briefly at the significance of the moment – want it to or not his life had changed the moment he first accepted his brother's invite to the Andersons' anniversary party and now, on the other side of those doors with which he was so familiar, stood a boy he had been unable to get out of his head since the moment he had laid eyes on him. Douglas took a breath with the full knowledge that his life was about to change again for better or worse and opened the doors.

* * *

Blaine froze, hand held awkwardly in mid-knock. He had lost all ability to form conscious thoughts apparently and was stood, frozen, like a child caught with their hand in a cookie jar. Doug's uncle stood before him in the flesh and suddenly Blaine needed to be somewhere far, far away. He had no idea what he had been expecting – the address was a penthouse on the Upper East Side, for goodness sake! But whatever it had been, it had not been this – he had idly thought about meeting the man before him numerous times since Blaine had first caught him watching him. In each permutation, be it at a party, or a formal dinner, Blaine had been cool, calm and collected – dressed to the nines, extending a hand, and coming across as mature and suave. This was not supposed to be how he met Douglas Chambers. Deep-down he had never really thought he would ever actually meet the man before him – why ever would he? He was merely an eighteen-year-old (almost nineteen, thank you very much) boy and his friend's uncle was an attractive man who shared Blaine's _inclination_ and who he secretly looked up to the more he learnt about him. He represented safety and integrity, and served as a distraction – someone Blaine could fantasise fancied him without ever needing to face the reality of inevitable rejection.

When Blaine had first heard tale of the elusive "Lord Lucan" he had experienced a deep thrill that had surged through him, awakening something within him that he had never had cause to previously think about. The romanticism and mystery had appealed to Blaine and he had become mildly obsessed with gleaning bits of information about his friend's absent uncle. Feeling unsatisfied with what he heard and picked up from listening in on his parents' discussions, Blaine had devised a character in his head that was charming, debonair, and a bit of a rogue - a rebel who had, due to some indeterminate scandal (that may, or may not have been related to a murder), left his family for the big city and never looked back. As he had grown older, Blaine's immature and naive caricature of the man he privately called simply "Lucan", had developed into a complex romantic lead for Blaine's first inexperienced fumblings and he blushed down to his frozen toes at the possibility that the man in front of him could ever learn the reality. But the man before him was so much more tangible than "Lucan" had been – fiercely intelligent dark eyes bored into his and Blaine was certain that he was completely see-through in that moment.

Blaine realised with chagrin that he was staring and dropped his eyes quickly muttering something about how he should never have come - that it was a terrible mistake, and that he was just going to get a hotel room, whilst somehow managing to apologise profusely for disturbing the gentleman at this ridiculous hour on Christmas morning. Before Blaine could turn to leave he felt a gentle, but firm, hand on his shoulder accompanied by a deep rumbling (and nervous?) laugh.

'Come now - there's no need for that. You're Doug's friend and he's family which makes you family by extension. So let's start over shall we? I'm Douglas.' His voice is softer than Blaine had expected, deeper somehow, and though quietly spoken, there is a power to his voice that makes Blaine know instantly that he never wants to cross this man. Douglas holds out his hand and Blaine squares his shoulders and takes it forcing himself to meet the elder's eyes again.

'Blaine. Blaine Anderson. We met - well, we almost met at my parents' wedding anniversary party.'

'I remember. I find myself remiss there – allow me to make up for not introducing myself as I should have to my gracious host.' Douglas' smile is soft and looks genuine and Blaine lets himself relax slightly as Douglas steps aside and gestures for his young companion to follow him into his private space.

Blaine makes to follow Douglas, disguising his limp as best he can, and praying he does not re-open the wound as Douglas' carpets are deep-piled and cream in colour. He is tense and keeps his back as straight as he can as he follows the taller man into the open-plan kitchen area, trying to act as if he is not helplessly overwhelmed and emotionally exhausted.

'May I take your coat, Blaine?'

He realises he must be positively glowing as his skin gradually warms with the ambience of the room, and he is thankful that it masks his blush as he pleads with his fingers to co-operate while he negotiates with the toggles of his thick overcoat. His fingers feel like sausages and he is certain that the simple activity takes him a lot longer than it should, but he eventually manages to peel himself out of his coat. Douglas takes it from him, and his scarf, without a word and merely motions for Blaine to take a stool at the Corian topped breakfast bar as he disappears back into the hallway - presumably to hang Blaine's things in a closet somewhere as Blaine did not recall seeing anything so homely looking as a coatrack. He grimaces as he realises that Douglas would have noticed his shoeless state and wonders what the man thinks about it and how he could explain without coming across as pathetic. He is not left alone with his thoughts for long, however, as Douglas returns, crossing the large, open space and busies himself gathering two large mugs, a saucepan, a canister of something Blaine does not immediately recognise, and some milk.

'Hot chocolate sound good?'

'That would actually be kind of perfect, thank you.' Blaine cannot help but smile a little, and he winces as his cheeks sting. He forces himself not to stare while Douglas makes their beverages and instead allows himself to take in his unexpected surroundings. The room is sparsely but tastefully decorated with numerous architectural details and a muted colour palate that serves to accentuate the stark beauty of the more structural items. Someone has plainly spent time designing the lighting to almost paint with the available textures in the room and the resultant atmosphere is wholly comforting instead of being clinical and empty. It is simultaneously elegant and masculine and Blaine finds himself appreciating the subtleties of the decorative touches he can see. He massages his frozen hands as he looks around and for the first time since he arrived in New York he allows himself to try to relax a little. He is concentrating so hard on not thinking about _why_ he came to be in Douglas' place that, when a Cornishware mug appears in front of him full of thick, creamy hot chocolate topped with a sprinkle of cinnamon, Blaine jumps slightly.

'Sorry.' Douglas smiles as he takes a seat across from his young guest. 'You looked very deep in thought there.'

'Sorry! I was – um… I mean I wasn't. I was trying not to think.'

He does not expect the quiet _hum_ of understanding that Douglas makes in response, and he is not quite sure what to say so instead Blaine wraps his tortured fingers around the mug and tries not to moan in pleasure at how good it feels.

They sit with the rich scent of cocoa, cinnamon and cream between them until both mugs are empty and have long-since gone cold. The silence is peppered with the noise of the city slowly waking around them and Blaine slowly allows himself to process recent events. Douglas casually reads a book he must have fetched at some point and Blaine silently thanks him for not trying to talk to him – after all, Doug must have told his uncle _something_ and Blaine knows that, were their roles reversed, he would be dying to know what happened.

Eventually Blaine feels about pulled-together enough to move – his foot has started to throb and his eyes feel like they have been open for days. He gingerly goes to stand and the movement draws Douglas' attention.

'Sorry. I…uh, please may I use your bathroom? I lost my shoes and I cut my foot at some point and I should probably see to it to make sure there's no glass or anything still in it before it closes up too much.'

Douglas frowns in concern but nods and leads Blaine down a side-corridor, past multiple doors, and finally into a bathroom that was almost the size of Blaine's bedroom back in Ohio. Blaine mumbles his thanks and takes a seat in a wicker bath chair that looks like it is at least five times his age, then begins to peel his bloody and filthy sock from his injured foot. He hisses in pain as the fabric sticks around the wound where the blood has dried, and suddenly Douglas is kneeling beside him – his hands gently taking over for Blaine.

'Let me.' It is spoken so softly - almost tenderly - that the fact that it is not a question but command does not bristle Blaine and he instead finds himself giving his foot (and trust) over to a man he hardly knows. Douglas removes Blaine's sock with what is almost a caress, and makes a small _tut_ noise before standing and leaving the room. Blaine frowns in confusion, his foot twitching slightly at the sudden absence of slightly rough, warm hands, but Douglas is soon back with a brown bottle of something, a small bowl (which he fills with water from the sink), and a bundle of cloths, pins, and bandages. Blaine follows Douglas' movements with curious eyes as he methodically pours a measure of the liquid into the slightly steaming water - releasing a sharp antiseptic smell into the air. Douglas once again kneels before Blaine and gently takes his foot. Blaine hisses between his teeth as the wet cloth touches his foot and the cut seems to glow bright-hot like a brand.

'It's not too bad – you were lucky. This should kill any potential infection. I know it stings, sorry.'

'No – it's fine. Thank you.' Blaine forces his voice to sound strong and is pleased that it does not betray him as Douglas works on his foot – first cleaning, then drying and bandaging it. He only meets Blaine's eyes when he has finished and then it is so brief Blaine almost believes he imagined it. Douglas cleans up methodically, pouring the now brown water out down the sink, and disappears again - presumably to return the first-aid items to wherever they came from. He leaves Blaine with a couple of pure white towels of different sizes that look impossibly fluffy and closes the door behind him. Blaine takes the opportunity to place his bandaged foot on the warm tile (_Under-floor heating?_ he wonders idly) and is pleasantly surprised when he only experiences a dull, pressing ache instead of the sharp, stabbing pain from earlier. He stands gingerly and tests his weight through his foot then makes his way over to the sink, cringing when he sees his reflection up close. His eyes are puffy and his hair is a dishevelled nest of half-escaped curls. He frowns and quickly runs the tap splashing his face with freezing water in an attempt to reduce the swelling around his eyes. He presses his face to a towel and inhales Egyptian cotton and lavender.

He does not know how long he was in the bathroom for, but by the time he emerges he feels a little closer to human. He eventually finds his way back into the kitchen and finds Douglas at the breakfast bar with his book again. Blaine clears his throat a little to get the older man's attention and tries to smile when Douglas' eyes meet his own.

'There is a guest bedroom just down that hall and to your left – I've put out some fresh clothes for you. Get some sleep, OK?'

It should be awkward, Blaine knows it should. He is, after all, an unannounced guest in this man's house, but it is not awkward. Blaine thanks Douglas from the bottom of his heart, fractured and tormented as it is, that the man has not asked him if he wants to talk, or even how he is. He resolves to make it up to him somehow as he enters the room Douglas has offered him. Blaine finds a plain white Henley and a pair of dove grey jogging bottoms – both are well-worn but clean and warm and smell strongly of the same fabric conditioner as the towels. He strips, changes - rolling up both the sleeves of the top and the pants legs so they are not so ridiculously long on him, then pulls back the cashmere and silk comforter before sliding between the linen sheets. For once he has no problem drifting off and before he knows it he is lost to fractured dreams featuring furious glasz eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Old Boys**

* * *

He wakes gradually to the smell of fresh coffee - his eyes are bleary and his bed is facing the wrong way. He reaches out for his bedside table expecting to find his alarm clock so he can work out what time it is, but instead feels nothing but empty air and only just stops himself from falling out of bed. All at once the sweet innocent oblivion of his post-sleep mind is jarred back into reality by memories of the previous day flooding back and he feels the bitter prickle of tears. He blinks repeatedly to clear his vision and takes a calming breath as he tries to pull himself together and come to terms with the events that led up to his present position in an unfamiliar bed in borrowed clothes. He had been so positive that he and Kurt would reconcile and they would spend some family time together with Burt… He had been such a naïve fool. He pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to remain distanced and objective – he needs to keep it together, at least until he gets home. He cannot break down in Doug's uncle's penthouse – not after turning up shoeless, wind bitten, and puffy-eyed. He runs his last conversation with Kurt through his head again and it does not hurt any less the third, fourth, or thirtieth time. Kurt was always so good with words – he learnt how to wield them as weapons over the years and now his accuracy cuts to the core. He was right though – Blaine did not know what he was doing and he _was_ running away. Kurt had once told Blaine that he was never saying "goodbye" to him, but Blaine supposes he signed that promise away when he had broken Kurt's trust. It feels like something that happened to someone else in another place, another time.

The familiar tug starts in his chest again – the one that tastes like guilt and shame – and he feels the weight of it start to crush him. He takes a breath, then another, and another in an attempt to halt the on-coming wave of panic that threatens to drown him. What was he thinking? Kurt had been utterly right to react the way he had. He pinches the bridge of his nose hard. Anger bubbles up gradually – he is so sick of ruining everything. He tried so hard to be what everyone needed him to be – immaculate, considerate, strong Blaine – and what did it get him? He has nothing. Kurt had been the shining beacon in his life – the wake-up call he had not even realised that he had been missing and Blaine had _ruined_ everything. He wants to scream, to cry, to attack a punching bag until his knuckles bleed and the pain flows away. He is so tired - tired of having to be perfect all the time - tired of people expecting him to always be strong and sensible and to do the right thing. Well he had proven that he was actually pretty incapable of doing anything right – the New Directions hated him, the old New Directions hated him, and now Burt and Kurt hated him. But not Doug, and not Sebastian or Hunter – they were his friends and they would still be there for him, wouldn't they? How long would it be before he messed something up with them? And the Warblers… They were expecting him to lead them to a Nationals victory and Blaine was _terrified_. Kurt had been completely right – he had absolutely no idea what he was doing.

The realisation makes him feel simultaneously exhausted and extremely agitated at once and it slowly dawns on him that he really does have to get up and somehow face Douglas. Douglas whose generosity Blaine has no idea how to repay, or even how to begin to try. A trickle of iced terror runs down his spine when he remembers the significance of the fact that it is _Christmas Day _and that Douglas probably has _plans_ that Blaine is _ruining_. The thought expels him from the warmth of the bed and he almost trips over the hem of the jogging bottoms (they must have rolled down as he slept) as he makes his way to the door. He rolls the pants legs back up; noticing that his foot feels better than he had been expecting it to as he is forced to balance on it. He gingerly opens the door and makes his way back to the bathroom – a couple of bottles have appeared together with fresh towels and Blaine's chest aches at how considerate Douglas is. Curious, he unscrews the silver cap on the bottle containing a moss coloured body wash and identifies bergamot and cedar wood in the scent. He runs a finger over the label – _Bracing Silverbirch_ – then strips and walks into the shower cubical.

The shower is like nothing he has ever experienced before – steam and water jets pummel the tension from his shoulders and massage him, and he finds the shower gel's scent soothing and refreshing. He exits the shower feeling more awake than he has in months. He dries off using the fresh towels draped over the free-standing heated towel rail then pulls the Henley and joggers back on. He towel dries his hair as best he can then and glares at his reflection in the mirror that somehow has not steamed up – like the floor and the towel rail, it too must be heated. He notices a new toothbrush (still in its packet) nestled next to a tube of toothpaste, a small tub of pomade, and a comb. He sends a silent prayer of thanks to Douglas's thoughtfulness and adds another line to the list of things he will never be able to fully repay his friend's uncle for as he fixes his hair. He tries not to think about how spookily well Douglas seems to know him.

Feeling closer to being put together, despite the casual attire, Blaine takes a deep breath – inhaling the spiced steam one last time, and makes his way into the kitchen.

He finds Douglas bent over a series of complex looking blueprints, one hand clutching a bacon roll and the other a pencil. Blaine watches Douglas work for a moment before the effect of the smell of food on Blaine's empty stomach forces him to announce his presence.

'Uh…hi.'

Douglas looks up from his work and smiles warmly at Blaine.

'Hi. There's one of these for you keeping warm under the grill – you do eat bacon don't you?'

'Oh! Yes! Thanks.' Blaine mentally berates himself for coming across no more put together than he had previously as he fetches the roll from the kitchen and transfers it to the waiting plate on the side.

'There's coffee too – I'm still trying to figure that machine out so it's strong.'

'Strong is fine by me right now.'

'I figured it might be.'

Blaine helps himself to some of the coffee and makes his way with both plate and mug to join Douglas at the table. He sits in silence and watches – noticing the slight creases and lines that appear when Douglas frowns and the way he transfers the pencil to hold it with his mouth as he flips between A1 sheets. Douglas' lips purse around the end of the pencil and Blaine blinks hard, swallows and forces himself to focus on something, anything else. He notices that the drawings appear to all be of variations on the same building – interiors and exteriors. He finds he wants to ask Douglas about them but Douglas is working so he keeps silent and instead listens to the soundscape of their environment – the _whirr-hum_ of the fridge, and the steady _scrape-tick_ of the clock. The room looks so different in the light of the day and Blaine notices for the first time that there are floor-to-ceiling windows along one entire wall that look out on a stunning view of Central Park. He loses himself watching the tiny people go about their lives and is mildly surprised at how quiet it seems considering how dry the weather is. It is then that he remembers what day it is again.

'Merry Christmas, by the way.' Blaine blurts before he can stop himself. _Suave, Blaine. Well done._

'Hmm? Oh - um… Merry Christmas, Blaine.' The smile Blaine receives is a little tight but utterly genuine, and Blaine finds himself returning it. Douglas' eyes meet his again and he looks like he is about to say something, then reconsiders it. Blaine frowns, finding he needs to say something, anything, to fill the void.

'I, uh, I want you to know that I'm really sorry we met like this and that I am so beyond grateful to you for your generosity.' He knows he is rambling but he is overcome with the sudden need to let Douglas know how he is feeling, and the relief that washes over him when Douglas responds is palpable.

'It is really no bother, Blaine. It is actually nice to have a little company. I'm just glad that I could help out a little.'

Again there is no agenda to Douglas' admission that Blaine can detect – he is not asking for details and Blaine relaxes a little knowing that Douglas will probably never ask.

'I guess you have plans for later or something –' He glances at the clock and winces when he notices the late hour – it is almost four in the afternoon, the sun will be setting in the next half-hour, and he has missed most of Christmas Day – not that he would have really felt like celebrating anyway. He is surprised to hear Douglas huff out a laugh in response and raises an eyebrow at the man in question.

'No plans in particular, no. I was thinking of heading over to the Club in a couple of hours – you are welcome to join me. They usually put on a good spread.'

'Um…I don't really have any spare clothes – my stuff is all kind of with my… my ex's father. Anyway – I really don't want to impose on you. I should really reschedule my flight or something and head home.'

Douglas' expression is unreadable and Blaine feels his skin tighten. Dark eyes search Blaine's for what feels like an eternity and Blaine gets the feeling that Douglas is looking for something. He does not look away.

'If that's what you'd like.'

Douglas smiles slightly and goes back to his drawings leaving Blaine feeling completely lost. He has no clue what to do.

'There's no hurry, you know. I'm not going to kick you out, Blaine.' The comment seemingly comes from nowhere and Blaine frowns.

'I'm sorry?'

'Doug mentioned that you had planned to stay in New York for a couple of days at least – you may have noticed that it is not exactly crowded here. You're welcome to use this as a base. It would save you the hassle of trying to change your plane ticket and it may give you the opportunity to have a bit of a break. You look like you could use one.'

It is the most Douglas has ever said to him and Blaine has the urge to grab the man and hug him for being so kind towards someone who is practically a stranger. Douglas senses Blaine's instability of mood and frowns slightly.

'I didn't mean to overstep the mark – I'm sorry if I've offended you, Blaine.'

'Offended me? No! I just… thank you. I would really appreciate that. To stay, I mean. So long as you are sure you don't mind, that is.'

'You'll find I don't make offers I do not intend to keep.' Douglas' smile is warm, genuine and a little relieved and Blaine finds that his own is similarly open.

'So – how about tonight? I feel bad that I haven't provided you with a proper Christmas dinner. A bacon sandwich does not exactly fit the bill…'

'Actually, it was kind of exactly what I needed. So…tell me about this Club?'

* * *

The dinner jacket fits him like it was made to measure and Blaine has never worn anything quite like it – the shawl collar is grosgrain silk, and the lining is a deep red which matches the pocket square and the laces of his dress shoes perfectly. He feels almost back to his old self and he is still not completely certain how Douglas pulled it off. It was not exactly like any shops were open and Blaine reasons that it is probably safer not to question his good fortune or the reach of Douglas' contacts.

The Club turns out to be a little like something out of a Dickens novel – the men there range in age between their early 30's and late 70's, and Douglas seems to know everyone. Blaine is introduced to barristers and judges, politicians and doctors, gallery owners and property developers, designers and shop proprietors. Seemingly anyone who is _anyone_ is there. Douglas does not leave his side and Blaine finds that he is infinitely grateful as he is more than a little overwhelmed. Douglas' presence is soothing and warm; a stabilising force – as the sun is for the planets that orbit it.

There are a number of "Old Boys" from Dalton and they each take an interest in Blaine – asking about his GPA, his extracurricular activities, and his post-graduation plans. He feels as if he is on show and he subconsciously leans a little into Douglas' reassuringly calm and commanding presence. He's not sure if the Old Boys are weighing up, testing him, or simply about to eat him.

Dinner is a formal affair complete with silver service, and the food is the best he has tasted. There are nine courses and Blaine feels full by the end of the fourth. Wine and brandy are flowing freely and the serving staff treat him exactly the same as the other gentlemen present – calling him "sir" and refilling his glass before he even notices that it is empty.

Blaine supposes that the only difference between _now_ and Dickens' time is that no one smokes when they withdraw after dinner. He feels as if he has been drawn into a private and ancient world; he feels grown-up – so far removed from the petty dramas of school and his old life.

The room spins a little when he moves his head too fast, but it is Christmas and he is actually having a good time so he cannot find it in himself to care. He loses himself in the hum of conversation but something feels off – beside the camber of the room. He feels colder, somehow – unsteady; as if the world has been knocked from its axis. He realises that at some point he and Douglas have separated. A seeping ice crawls up his spine and he stands on his tiptoes to try to spot the architect over the heads of the other gentlemen. Somewhere, someone is playing a piano and the sound draws Blaine like a moth to fire - chasing away the ice. He wanders through the labyrinth of ornate rooms – so like Dalton and nothing like it at the same time – until he spots the grand piano. The pianist looks to be in his mid to late twenties, the youngest man Blaine has seen that evening by far – he is blonde and slim and has the most piercing green eyes. Blaine finds himself leaning against the smooth black gloss of the instrument before he is aware he has moved towards it from the gilt doorway.

'You're new.'

The voice is old money and molasses. Blaine smiles and nods.

'Yes – I'm here with Douglas. Douglas Chambers. The architect.'

'Oh?' The blonde stops playing and stands to offer his hand. 'I'm Benedict Charles, but my friends call me Charlie.'

'Blaine Anderson.'

'Nice to meet you, Blaine.' Charlie holds Blaine's hand for a little longer than Blaine thinks is probably necessary before releasing him. The moment reminds Blaine a little of the first time he met Sebastian all those years ago at Dalton - it is not an unpleasant sensation.

'Likewise.'

Charlie smiles as he retakes his seat at the piano, flexes his fingers and then resumes playing. It is not a piece Blaine is familiar with but it has a nice blues rhythm to it. Blaine resists the urge to squeeze next to Charlie on the piano stool and instead leans back onto the piano in a move he hopes looks casual. He feels warm and his blood is buzzing in time to the beat of Charlie's music.

'You're good.'

The blonde smiles at the compliment.

'Do you play, Blaine?'

'A little, yeah.'

Charlie shifts over on the piano stool and motions for Blaine to join him Blaine is certain that his cheeks flush but he manages to resist, instead shaking his head slightly. The pianist turns the full force of those emerald pools on him and Blaine finds himself sitting next to the young man – thigh pressed tightly to thigh. He can feel the muscles in Charlie's leg shift as he depresses pedals. He can feel the bass notes vibrate through the floor and into him through the seat. He almost misses Charlie's question he is so lost in sensations.

'So, what brings you to the Club, Blaine?'

He takes a breath.

* * *

Douglas feels the loss of Blaine's presence keenly and manages to fight down the inexplicable wave of nausea that accompanies the realisation. This is worse than the last time he lost sight of Blaine at the Andersons' party – this time Blaine is supposed to be _his_ responsibility. At least that is how he rationalises it, because Douglas cannot contemplate the other explanation. He excuses himself from the conversation he had been engaged in – some innocuous anecdote, no doubt, Douglas had ceased to pay conscious attention a while ago – and actively begins his search. It does not take him long to spot him – he hears him first. Blaine's silky baritenor is like a siren's draw and he finds a crowd surrounding the piano where both his charge and another young man are engaged in entertaining the patrons. The blonde is practically on Blaine's lap – one arm draped around his shoulders while Blaine plays and sings. The crowd are enjoying every moment and as Blaine draws the song to its conclusion there are plenty of "encores" and requests. Gone is the shy, embarrassed and uncertain boy that greeted Douglas that afternoon at the table – this delightful creature before him is a consummate performer.

'You said he could sing but I think you undersold him,' a gruff voice next to his ear interjects Douglas' thoughts. He recognises the man as a fellow Old Boy.

He does not reply and later, much later, when he is back in his own bed - staring at the ceiling and unable to sleep, he will torture himself for being so rude – it will seem unfathomable to him. It is utterly out of character for Douglas. He will justify to himself that he was simply concerned for Blaine – partly because the lad had clearly had too much to drink, and also because Douglas was supposed to be _responsible_ for him. A responsible person would be concerned that his charge was in the company of a man with the reputation of Benedict Charles. So, Douglas will trivialise the way his palms had pricked with sweat, and his pulse had been racing – merely a symptom of his concern and a side-effect of the heat of the room. He will deny that his gut had clenched with a mix of fire and ice when Charlie had nonchalantly taken Blaine's hand and pulled him up and into an impromptu bow. He will quash the memory of the way his world had diminished to nothing but a pair of amber eyes and a honeyed voice, and he will watch the shadows on the wall until they slink away to hide from the new day.


	8. Chapter 8

**Politics and Playthings**

* * *

He finds Douglas at the table, complete with coffee, bacon roll, pencil, and blueprints all present as before - but the atmosphere feels completely different to the previous day. Blaine silently retrieves his own coffee and breakfast then joins Douglas at the table. The smell of food drew him from his room, and the fact that they have fallen into a routine so easily is not lost on Blaine. He eyes his breakfast suspiciously battling his stomach's insistence that the roll is the last thing it needs.

'It'll make you feel better.' Douglas' voice is soft but he does not look up from his work.

'Thank you.' Blaine does not know what else to say.

He forces himself to eat, focusing on the man across from him rather than the nausea. Douglas looks like he has not slept and Blaine finds himself wondering if it was something he did. Most of the latter part of the previous evening is a blur to him, and he cannot recall _how_ they got back to Douglas'; but he does recall fragments. He sang Christmas carols with Charlie – it felt so good to have others appreciate his talent and encourage him again. It had been a great pick-me-up following the events of Christmas Eve. He recalls the heat of Charlie against him and the easy way that the blonde had reaped details from Blaine about his (now non-existent) personal life then asked for his number. Blaine remembers entering it into the other man's phone – he instantly feels guilty at the memory, then quashes it – he is single after all. He feels anything but single though whilst he shares breakfast, sitting across from Douglas. It is so ridiculously domestic and Blaine knows how easily he could fall into patterns with the quiet architect. Amber eyes flit over the face of the man before him as Blaine nurses his cooling coffee. Blaine remembers the look he had caught Douglas giving him when Charlie had draped his arm across the shoulders of his new-found friend. The older man's face had looked possessive, almost pained, and when their eyes had met it had sent a thrill through Blaine to his core. He had found himself reacting viscerally: loosened as he had been by the warm courage of too much alcohol and a deep desire to _forget_.

He had not been attracted to Charlie – the man was handsome but there had been something about him that had set alarm bells ringing in Blaine's mind. He puts it down to the easy way in which Charlie invaded personal space – but there was something else there, under the surface, that Blaine could not put his finger on in the haze of inebriation. It had not stopped him playing the game back – touching because he _could_. He would not deny that the attention had felt good, and that he had allowed himself to close his eyes and imagine, just for a moment, that the heat next to him had been belonged to a lover (if he was being truly honest he had imagined that it had been Kurt beside him, after all, Kurt would have _loved_ the Club). He had not, however, expected the effect it had had on Doulas – the way the man had been unable to look away. Blaine had felt Douglas' eyes roam his body openly as he had performed, and, like at his parents' party, he had felt his breath catch a little in his throat whenever their eyes had met across the crowded space.

As the sun's weak rays chased the last of the fog from Blaine's mind he cringed a little – perhaps Blaine had tried something in his drunken state on the way home. Maybe that was why Douglas was being off with him? Blaine felt an icy wave crash over him and he felt short of breath. Of course a man like Douglas would not be interested in a boy like him – what had he got to offer exactly? He had turned up like an urchin on the man's doorstep and he had taken him in out of pity and duty to a nephew he was getting to know after years of estrangement. This was the _Gap Attack_ all over again – he had read too much into something and seen something that was not there out of desperation and loneliness. Blaine felt sick at the thought and was overcome with the desperate need to fix things. The silence between the two of them as the antique clock marched time forwards seemed to cement Blaine's theory with each passing second until he could not stand the silence.

'Um…Douglas?'

Unreadable obsidian orbs met his own and Blaine forgot how to breathe.

'Are you OK?'

The concern on the older man's face melted into his eyes, warming them to molten chocolate, and Blaine took a shaky breath. He _needed_ to know like he needed oxygen to live.

'Yes…I, uh…I just wanted to know…Are we OK?'

He cringed a little at how young he sounded. Douglas was always so put together – so _adult -_ and Blaine could not seem to get coherent sentences out when he was around him.

'Of course. Why wouldn't we be?'

'I just suddenly had this thought that maybe I said something last night or…that maybe I messed things up?'

Douglas laughed then and the sound was musical. Blaine felt his shoulders relax.

'We are just fine, Blaine. And no – you didn't really say much at all because you fell asleep in the cab.'

He felt the blush flare in his cheeks and something about the sight seemed to make Douglas catch his breath – his laughter dying and leaving a soft smile in its wake.

'Blaine?'

'Sorry. I just – I'm glad I guess. I had a bit much to drink and I was worried for a moment there.'

Douglas' smile crinkles the corners of his eyes and Blaine's heart rate kicks up a notch. He clears his throat and licks his lips nervously.

'I was wondering whether I could maybe take you out to dinner tonight? As a thank you. I mean – it's Boxing Day – so I have no idea if we can even get a table anywhere but –'

'That would be lovely, thank you.' Douglas cuts off Blaine's rambling. 'You don't have to thank me you know.'

'I want to.'

'So, where were you thinking?' Douglas puts down the pencil he has been fiddling with and folds his arms. Blaine tries not to notice the way the muscles in his arms flex.

'Uh…I have no idea. I don't really know New York too well. Where would you suggest?'

'Leave it with me, OK?'

Blaine nods then busies himself by clearing plates and mugs away from the table to distract himself from the confusing messages his body and mind were presently duelling over, because his body was presently winning and Blaine desperately needed to regroup.

* * *

They end up going to a tiny little place that Blaine is certain he would never be able to find again, just as he is certain that Douglas chose it to ensure it would be in Blaine's budget. The food, however, is exceedingly good – Lebanese – and they each order a couple of mezes knowing without having to discuss it that the intention is to share. It feels long overdue, although in reality it has only been a couple of days, but they take the time to learn a bit about each other over dinner. They talk about Douglas' family business and how he established the New York branch. They talk about Blaine's career goals – but Blaine steers clear of talking about school or anything that he feels emphasises the difference in their ages. They talk politics and Blaine takes pride in being able to hold an _adult_ debate. The conversation moves quickly and easily from there to gay rights and both get passionate about progress, and how much things have changed since Douglas was a boy. Blaine knows enough from Doug and Cooper to steer clear of discussing family.

The second bottle of wine brings talk of failed relationships, and after the third, Blaine finds himself telling Douglas all about Kurt and Eli and the events that led to his shoeless appearance on Douglas' doorstep. The older man listens but does not offer sympathies – he remains strangely quiet and thoughtful throughout Blaine's admission. It feels cathartic to Blaine – like he is being given a clean slate. The topic dies a little and Blaine fumbles for a new one – the wine is starting to affect him more than he had realised, and he feels giddy. Chocolate eyes meet his and Blaine loses all track of what he was saying so that when Douglas speaks, it takes Blaine quite a while to process.

'Stay longer.'

It is a statement – another almost-command, and Blaine does not let himself over analyse. He agrees, and as quickly as the topic had changed it changes again.

* * *

Blaine is mildly surprised when Douglas actually lets him pay – he had half expected Douglas to do the uncle thing and to insist on paying even though Blaine had been the one to instigate dinner. The gesture makes Blaine feel warm inside – underneath it means that Douglas considers him an equal.

They walk back – warm-blooded with alcohol against the bitter December cold – and he is not sure whether it is the conversation flowing so easily between them, or whether it is another side-effect of the wine, but it takes them less time than he expected to get back to the penthouse. Blaine leans into Douglas' side as the architect wraps a steadying arm around his young companion's waist in the elevator – he is engulfed by the spicy citrus of the other man's cologne and Blaine finds himself wondering whether he chose it for _him_. He feels lightheaded and relaxed, loosed limbed and _happy_, and for a moment he actually thought Douglas was going to kiss him when he leant in to say goodnight. Douglas embraces him in a one-armed hug and Blaine feels his stomach flip as he watches Douglas head for the other end of the penthouse. He makes his own way to his room, feeling the ghost of the other man's breath against his neck. The room spins slightly but he manages to hang on to the bed long enough to climb in. He only realises that he is smiling when he feels the ache in his cheeks.


	9. Chapter 9

**The Precipice**

* * *

Blaine meets Sylvia the next morning. He had expected to find Douglas in his "usual" spot at the table and had jumped about a foot in the air when he had discovered a tiny white haired woman in her 60s instead of the strong scent of coffee and spice that accompanied the majestic older man. Sylvia simply laughed at him and Blaine immediately liked her.

'He's at work, dear. I'm guessing that he didn't let you know to expect me in the morning?'

Her voice is soft but strong, and she smiles at him when he shakes his head, unable, temporarily, to control his tongue or breathing enough to speak.

'Typical. Men – you're all useless! I'm Sylvia, the housekeeper. You must be the young Mr. Anderson.' She looks him up and down, and Blaine feels himself straighten under her scrutiny. 'Come on then – let's get you fed.'

She cooks him a "Full English" breakfast and he falls a little bit in love with her cooking, though a small part of him yearns for the simplicity of a simple bacon roll and strong coffee. They chat throughout breakfast, and when Sylvia discovers that Blaine has yet to see much more than his temporary bedroom, the open-plan kitchen/diner and the large main bathroom, she takes him on a guided tour of the rest of the apartment. The place is much larger than he had imagined: 4-bedrooms and 5 entertaining rooms – it even has a separate library, complete with a little galleried landing. The biggest surprise comes when Sylvia shows him the separate 2-bedroom "Guest Apartment". Blaine suddenly feels incredibly intimidated and confused – why does Douglas have so much space when he lives by himself?

Sylvia leaves around midday and Blaine spends his time curled up in an antique red leather wingback chair with his thoughts, a T.G. Green mug of coffee, and a sweet-smelling well-thumbed copy of Frederico García Lorca's poetry in the original Spanish.

_¿Quién segó el tallo_

_de la luna?  
(Nos dejó raíces _

_de agua.)_

_¡Qué fácil nos sería cortar las flores _

_de la eterna acacia!_

The heat leaches from the coffee into his fingers and the old tome is heavy in his lap - it helps to ground him as his thoughts meander, interspersed as they are with fragments of poetry and bitter-sweet sips. The light, though Winter-cold and cool in tone, is perfect for reading. He curls his legs under himself, and slowly, slowly he lets himself begin to properly process the events of the past few days.

_Se mueren de amor los ramos._

_La noche de anís y plata_  
_relumbra por los tejados._  
_Plata de arroyos y espejos._  
_Anís de tus muslos blancos._

_Se mueren de amor los ramos._

He stumbles through darkness – fierce Anger, aching Hurt, brutal Betrayal, and shattering Doubt all vying for equal attention. His mind is filled with the buzzing of a thousand thoughts, like wasps, they swarm – crawling beneath his skin, too tight and hot/cold. Hot/cold. Hot/cold. His breath comes in stuttering shudders and wetness moistens his cheeks – drip, drip, drip. But he is safe here with the books and the thick, dusty smell of vanilla. He is safe here. But he cannot stay here forever. Eventually he has to return to the reality of his world before Douglas. He cannot stay in this fairytale.

_Se mueren de amor los ramos._

* * *

Douglas finds him curled, and tiny, in the library, fast asleep. The light is fading fast with the day and the long shadows emphasise the length of the boy's eyelashes, as they lie fanned out across his cheekbones. He looks so very young in sleep - his skin glowing pale in the dying light, his lips slightly parted.

He cannot bring himself to wake the lad.

Eventually he manages to tear his eyes away from the still form of the Adonis before him, and retires to the kitchen.

* * *

It is completely dark when he wakes – his eyes feel puffy and his lips dry. Blaine stretches tortured and cramped limbs slowly, teasing knots from muscles. He feels his way to the door without incident then makes his way through the corridor towards the light spilling from the kitchen.

Douglas in a tailored grey suit is something to behold – he has removed his jacket and is cooking; his back to Blaine. The waistcoat emphasises the broadness of his shoulders and his narrow waist - the silk at the back clinging across the expanse as he moves. His shirt sleeves are rolled to his elbows – Blaine spots the wink of cufflinks on the counter top next to a discarded silk tie – and he finds himself staring, fascinated by this version of Douglas.

He makes his way over to the table, which is devoid (for once) of blue-prints, and makes a point of scraping the chair slightly as he draws it back so that Douglas is made aware of his presence. The man in question turns and Blaine's breath catches a little at the sight of Douglas with his top button undone revealing the long, pale column of his neck.

'How was work?' Blaine is secretly glad that, for once, he manages to sound casual.

'Busy. It's always hectic after a holiday – the clients get edgy when the office is shut.' He sounds tired and Blaine has to physically stop himself from getting up to embrace the man.

'I guess that's a good thing though? Better than it being too quiet.'

'Exactly.' Douglas smiles and turns back to move a pan of something from the hob.

Blaine catches the smell of vegetables as Douglas drains the cooking water away and he wonders what is in store and how often Douglas cooks for more than one.

'Get up to much? Sorry I forgot to tell you I'd be back at work today…' Douglas lets the statement trail off, leaving Blaine to fill-in the unspoken implications.

'I just did a bit of reading.'

Blaine is certain that Douglas would be able to see the redness of his eyes but Douglas, ever the gentleman, does not call him out on it. He watches Douglas plate up – the aroma of the roast chicken causing his mouth to water and he suddenly realises how hungry he was.

'Can I help with anything?' Blaine kicks himself mentally for not asking sooner, but thankfully Douglas merely smiles and shakes his head.

* * *

The next few days pass smoothly and all too quickly for his liking – Blaine seems to fit so neatly and effortlessly into Douglas' life. They grab breakfast together at a tiny little café on the riverfront run by an elderly Italian couple – coffee and a Danish pastry with the day's paper, then Blaine walks Douglas to the office before setting off to explore the sights New York has to offer. They meet for lunch at a different address each day – usually a quirky little venue where they grab a "slice" or a sandwich and Douglas makes Blaine tell him about his adventures that morning then delights in suggesting activities to occupy Blaine for the afternoon. Blaine enjoys his outings as a proper tourist but there is always a part of him that is permanently on edge when he nears certain areas of the city where he may run into someone he knows.

He never does.

As the sun begins to set Blaine heads back to Douglas' offices (the reception staff quickly know him by name) and he waits with Douglas' PA, Penny, chattering about the latest celebrity gossip until Douglas emerges from his last client meeting of the day. From there the pair head straight to the Club for a drink (which always turns into a couple) before heading back to Douglas' to cook (or via somewhere where they can grab something "to go" on the way if Douglas has had a particularly hard day).

* * *

On New Year's Eve, Douglas has to work – a particularly important client from China had flown over specifically for a face-to-face, Blaine spends his day discovering Central Park. He had been disappointed when Douglas had broken the news that he would not be around for their usual lunch, and that he would probably not be home until after 11pm. He had seemed genuinely remorseful, but Blaine had understood – _business was business_, at least that's what everyone always said. It had not made it feel any less painful. He had been surprised that he had not been asked to accompany Douglas but the thought had been immediately quashed by a darker one -

_As what exactly, Blaine? Douglas can't exactly take a _teenager _to a business dinner with him without an explanation. You are not a couple. Stop acting like a child. You're getting attached. He is not yours. He's a grown man who owns a business, who has been more than generous letting you stay with him after you screwed your life up. If anything you are an inconvenience who is outstaying his welcome._

So when he had received a text message from Charlie he had not hesitated to welcome the distraction.

**Charlie: **Anders! 8pm my place? Or have you got plans? ;)

**Blaine: **I'm sure I can find a way to join you. ;-) What are you thinking? - B

**Charlie**: Wear something cute – I'm popping your clubbing cherry.

**Blaine: **What makes you think I'm a clubbing virgin, Charlie? - B

**Charlie: **Seriously?

**Blaine: **I've been clubbing before. - B

**Charlie: **Not in NY, baby. See you at 8. Remember – wear something cute – I never pay for my own drinks, Anders.

**Blaine: **I'm not exactly 21…and my fake ID is not exactly up to NY standards… :-S - B

**Charlie: **Leave all that to Uncle Charlie. x

* * *

The club in question is in a converted church and Blaine can appreciate the irony of the building's repurpose to gay bar. The interior is covered in gothic art and neon pink crucifixes which make Blaine feel more than a little uncomfortable, until the first few drinks anyway. Charlie had not been joking when he said that he never bought his own drinks – a policy he takes very seriously and enforces upon Blaine the instant they are inside.

'The thing is, Anders – we are two, very attractive young men in New York, and they,' he makes a sweeping gesture that incorporates most of the rest of the men on the dance floor, 'they _want_ to thank us.'

'Thank us?' Blaine has to shout his question over the heavy drum and bass music and he has a feeling he will not be able to talk tomorrow.

'For allowing them to, of course.'

Blaine frowns slightly and Charlie, clad in skin tight leather trousers and a slim-fit emerald green shirt which has the effect of making his eyes positively glow, simply winks at him slyly.

'Watch and learn, Anders!'

He follows his blonde friend to the bar and watches as Charlie leans onto the polished silver surface so that the material of the shirt is drawn tightly across his shoulders and his leather-clad ass is on display. Blaine swallows nervously as he watches – he still has no idea what Charlie said to the bouncer but Blaine had not been asked for ID, and he certainly did not look 21, even if he had put effort into what he was wearing. Charlie had taken one look at his original outfit – the best he could do with the limited clothing he had packed to come up to New York originally (he had arranged for Burt to drop off his things at Douglas' office earlier in the week feeling that a face-to-face would be too embarrassing and emotional) – and had forced him to change. Though Charlie was a little taller, they were actually a very similar build and fortunately Charlie's clothes had fit Blaine. The result was that Blaine was now dressed in extremely tight (even for him) black jeans, and a form-fitting blood red shirt which made him feel self-conscious and on display.

Blaine has no idea how Charlie does it but somehow after a minute or so, the blonde is heading back towards Blaine with two drinks and two men in tow. Thanking the men for the first drink is awkward, but Charlie handles most of the talking – he gets close to the shorter of the two men on the pretence of being able to be heard over the music – and Blaine awkwardly sips at the drink (amoretto sour) whilst the taller man watches him.

'Anders, this is Taylor!' Charlie shouts as a way of introducing Blaine to the man who apparently bought him a drink, 'and this is Mike!', before he returns his attention back to "Mike". Mike seems to enjoy how close Charlie is and it is not long before Charlie takes Mike's hand and leads him to the dance floor, giving Blaine a look as he passes.

Blaine finishes his drink and, not really wanting to be left alone with a man he does not know and risk losing Charlie so early in the evening, motions for Taylor to follow him to the crowded dance floor.

* * *

He has no memory of getting back to the penthouse but he appreciates how it has started to feel like "home". He takes a moment to admire the carving on the ornate double doors that have come to represent everything that Blaine has started to _love _about New York before opening them and entering the apartment. His vision swims a little and he tries his best to be stealthy as he heads towards his room when he recalls that Douglas may be back from his business dinner, and may be sleeping.

'I was starting to worry.'

The concern and relief in Douglas' voice is palpable and Blaine finds himself smiling at the sound. He spins to face the taller man in time to catch the almost predatory look and slight flush of what he recognises as arousal that flickers across Douglas' features as he takes in Blaine's appearance. After a night of not paying for a single drink Blaine has become very aware, very quickly, how attractive he apparently is. It is a novel concept and not one that he has particularly put much thought into before. However, now, high on life and revved up from a number of downright dirty dances (that got _dirtier_ as the evening progressed) he feels keenly the _want_ that rages through his teenage system. He leans seductively against the wall and gives Douglas a look that could only be described as smouldering (or as Charlie dubbed it: his 'fuck-me-eyes').

'How was dinner?'

His voice is gravely with having spent the evening shouting, and he notices Douglas swallow at the timbre.

'Good - Mr. Youxi was very grateful and we won the business.' Douglas pauses and Blaine licks his lips. 'You look…you look like you had an interesting evening.'

'I did.' Blaine purrs. 'Charlie took me out. It was eye opening.'

'I see.'

Blaine smiles through his eyelashes and catches Douglas' dark eyes with his own. Blaine's heart is racing in his chest and his motions feel slow, as if he is moving though treacle by the light of a strobe machine. He pushes himself from the wall and steps towards Douglas, gripping his bicep with his cold hand. He feels Douglas shiver slightly from the contact or the chill – he is not certain – but a little thrill ripples through Blaine in response. Douglas' eyes are unreadable but Blaine is too drunk to notice – all he knows is that there is _something_ between them; something he did not feel with any other man in that club that evening; something he wants to understand desperately. Douglas does not move and Blaine takes it as an invitation. He leans in as he had watched Charlie do numerous times that evening, and he is certain that Douglas has stopped breathing as he gently presses his body in closer. The scent of _Douglas_ surrounds and envelops him and he ghosts a kiss across the taller man's pulse point. He feels Douglas shift slightly as he subconsciously bares his neck to Blaine's lips and something inside Blaine unravels – he presses his lips to the other man's neck and kisses gently. He feels Douglas' chest as the other man's breathing quickens and Blaine can smell the alcohol on their breaths mingling. He pulls Douglas closer until their bodies are pressed together and sucks and nibbles the other man's pulse point. One of them moans – Blaine has no idea whom – but the noise is so hot, and Blaine kisses up Douglas' jaw towards the other man's lips. He revels in the scrape of stubble against his lips and teeth, and he finds himself rolling his hips against Douglas' as they crash backwards together against the wall behind Douglas. Blaine presses into him and their lips brush each other's as Douglas finally moves – but not in the way Blaine expects. Blaine finds himself crashing into the wall as Douglas moves out from under him.

'God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Blaine. I should… I'm…I'm going to go to bed. OK? I'm so sorry. I should never have… I'm sorry -'

Blaine frowns in confusion, his body aching from the sudden lack of contact.

'Douglas, wait!' He shouts as the other man retreats. He follows and tries to take Douglas' hand but the other man pulls away. 'What's wrong? Did I do something wrong?'

'No, Blaine. This is wrong. All of this. I can't…'

'Can't _what_? Enjoy yourself?' Douglas refuses to meet Blaine's eyes and he can feel frustration and confusion bubbling though his lust and alcohol flushed veins.

'Don't…'

'Don't _what_, Douglas?'

'Blaine…'

'No. Tell me what's going on because a moment ago you were into this. Tell me that I'm wrong – tell me that you don't want me.'

'Blaine, please…'

'Please, what?' The bubbles are roaring now, and Blaine feels himself shaking slightly.

'Let me be strong, Blaine.'

'You aren't denying it.'

'You are a child, Blaine!'

The words feel like a cane to his back and he struggles to breathe through the tears prickling in the corners of his eyes.

'I'm just some innocent little school boy that you saved to you aren't I? God, I'm so stupid!' Blinded he heads for the door – he finds he needs air, the sight of Douglas refusing to meet his eyes suddenly makes him feel sick.

He feels a hand wrap around his forearm but he pulls free.

'Blaine, stop – we should talk about this!' Douglas' voice is cracked and desperate but Blaine cannot bring himself to face him.

His pulse roars in his ears and for the second time in as many weeks Blaine finds himself running away. He finds himself back at the bar from earlier as the countdown begins. He lets himself be swept into the crush of bodies. He lets the roar of the crowd drown out his thoughts. He lets himself be lost.

_¿Quién segó el tallo_

_de la luna?_

* * *

**Author's note: **The poem first quoted is 'Acacia' by Lorca. English translation:

_Who reaped the stem_

_of the moon?_

_(We left roots_

_of water.)_

_How easy we would cut the flowers_

_of eternal acacia!_

The second is a fragment from Lorca's 'Serenata'. English translation:

_The branches die of love._

_The night of anise and silver  
shines over the rooftops.  
Silver of streams and mirrors  
Anise of your white thighs._

_The branches die of love._


	10. Chapter 10

**Hangover**

* * *

He is numb to the wind's jellyfish-esque attempts to sting his eyes and cheeks with freezing tentacles that are almost tangible; he can no longer feel his fingers or nose anymore - but he needs the fresh air. He needs to sober up. He needs to think.

Douglas does not expect to actually be able to spot Blaine from the balcony – no, he's long gone by now – Douglas is blind to the external wold of his surroundings anyway, lost and stumbling in his mind's eye as he is. Unseeing eyes dart frantically as Douglas fumbles through the tortured mess he made of the past seconds?, minutes?, hours? – he cannot be sure. Time is at once gelatinous and fluid in his present state – lapping at him then crashing over him, drowning him. He cannot breathe – his lungs ache with panic, frustration, anger, and fear. Little demons pawing at him – rocks tied to his limbs, pulling him under tormented thoughts.

He should never have had that last drink. Perhaps, he should not have had the one before it. Or, not drunk at all!

_So foolish – I should have stopped this days ago. _

_~ But you didn't. You didn't want to. ~ _

He feels like a man shipwrecked – all the wind has been stolen from his sails now, adrift and listless. Douglas had felt guilty leaving Blaine to make his own entertainment on New Year's Eve - he was surprised how quickly he had become accustomed to Blaine's presence in his life. For _months_ he had felt as if he was merely drifting, coasting along directionless and alone. He had found no pleasure in his work and he had shunned colleagues and friends alike making excuses to avoid social interactions where he would be forced to recognise the successes and happiness of others – each proclamation affirmation of his own pathetic existence. Things had gone from bad to worse when Roger had barged his way back into his brother's life – a living, breathing reminder of how Douglas' life _should have been_. If he were a better son. If he were straight.

Blaine had shone like a lighthouse at the Andersons' party, and though Douglas had not even spoken to him, he had somehow imparted some light back into Douglas' darkness. He had returned from Roger's with a more positive attitude towards both his work and social lives – he had actually tackled his projects with something resembling enthusiasm. But he had never quite gotten the beautiful boy with the golden eyes out of his mind.

When Doug had called him, Douglas had not even thought to refuse Blaine help, and in the days that followed, Douglas had expected to find the pedestaled illusion he had created in the lad's image from fragments of gleaned information wanting. He had not expected to _feel_ for Blaine.

~ _To fall for him.~ _

It had all happened so quickly and so gradually that it had taken him by surprise – dinners and lunches and easy conversations, light touches, and warm gestures. He had not expected Blaine to fit so easily into his life that he had built in New York. No one else had – what were the odds that a teenager could do what _men_ had been unable to?

Douglas realises that he is pacing and forces himself to stop. He leans heavily on the balustrade and attempts to clear his mind of the dwelling, circling thoughts. He brings himself back to the present day – to the events which led Blaine to flee him.

The day had gone so well and he had won the business – the contract was worth _billions_, not to mention the added reputational bonus the Chinese venture would provide. Dingxiang Youxi had chosen Douglas' design over all of those tendered by rival firms – the design was a labour of love for Douglas – he had worked on it solidly since the request for designs had gone out. It had been a wondrous distraction – the perfect project to take his mind away from youthful copper and honey and the building was to be his greatest work – towering gracefully over the skyline, an endless testimony to passion and his lasting legacy. When Dingxiang had announced his trip to New York Douglas had scarcely dared to breathe, to dream – this deal meant that he had truly gained international recognition for his work, despite his father's continual assertions that he had no great skill or talent. Despite his father's rejection, Douglas had done what his father had not, yet rather than leaving him elated Douglas had felt hollow somehow. So he had accepted the congratulatory champagne, and the celebratory white wine that Mr. Youxi had brought with him –

'To New Years and new beginnings!'

- and he had eaten only enough to be considered polite.

He was not sure why he had expected Blaine to be home when he had returned – but, upon finding the penthouse empty, he had been overcome with a feeling of remorse and guilt that he could not understand. He had put it down to too much alcohol, to which he was not accustomed, and too little food, and had been about to retire when he had heard the sound of footsteps. He had instantly recognised the footfall as Blaine's and he recalled feeling out of breath and dry-mouthed.

The gorgeous creature before him had stolen what remaining breath he had together with his better judgement. Blaine had been right to be confused because Douglas had _wanted_ him then. He had wanted him from the very beginning. Sweet lips and soft skin had overwhelmed him and he had been utterly powerless in the moment. Unable to be the rash, mature adult Blaine had needed him to be, Douglas had let himself be lost in Blaine's inebriated and misguided passion.

Nausea struck him, gloved and merciless, but Douglas fought it down. He was the lad's acting guardian and he had taken advantage of his young charge when he had been in a vulnerable emotional place. Disgusted with himself, he found that he was shaking.

~ _Your father was right – you are useless and good-for-nothing, Douglas Graeme Chambers. He probably never wants to see you again. And why should he? ~_

A distant alarm called him from his spiralling thoughts – it took him longer than perhaps it should to recognise the ringtone of his phone. He made his way back into the dark room and fumbled in his coat pockets for the vibrating cell. Numb fingers took a while to register on the touchscreen and he missed the call. Unlocking it the number revealed explained everything.

**1 Missed Call from Benedict Charles**

* * *

He is surrounded by the press of writhing bodies – sticky with sweat and alcohol and sweet with musk and arousal. They surge against him like waves; pulling at him, stroking him, grinding against him. He feels, more than hears, music over the sounds of hooting, cheering and shouting – a tribal force through his heart and veins that pulls his feet to the beat like a pied piper. His hand is never empty long – bottles and strange shaped glasses filled with exotic looking liquids of every colour. He has lost all sense of smell and taste – he is a mess of raw fibres now; he feels. It burns with delicious fury. It is easy to get lost in the swarm – the lights reduce faces to angular flashes of distorted colour – eyes, teeth, hair, jaw, lips. The feel of lips at his pulse. The feel of hips against the swell of his ass. Hands in the dip of his back. The hard press of arousal against his thigh. A hand pulling his. Insistent. Up, up, up to the surface.

The cold hits him like a sledge hammer and the sudden _lack_ of everything – sound, heat, bodies, music, voices – slaps him hard. He throws up violently – liquid, only liquid – until he is empty. Then there is the sharp of the floor on his palms – dulled knives in pillows: distant and far away. Then there is darkness and echoes of familiar voices. Then nothing. Nothing.

* * *

His mouth is cotton wool, his stomach a thrashing sea monster, and his head is simultaneously on fire, under water, and the punching bag of an extremely angry gorilla. He barely has time to register that his limbs work before he finds himself in the bathroom acquainting himself with porcelain.

He rinses the bitter bile from his mouth with tap water and winces at the blurry, bloodshot mess in the mirror.

The shower's operational difficulty level has miraculously increased by itself and the floor is uneven but he manages to take a shower, and towels himself dry before another attack of nausea has him back on the floor retching up nothing into the toilet bowl.

Eventually he heaves himself up from the warm tiles with noodle limbs, and attempts to make his way back to the safety of pillows and blankets. Bacon and coffee smack him in the face – both are too strong – they have no right to be so pungent. The fridge is too loud and the clock insults him with each persistent tick, but he makes it into the kitchen before he remembers _why_ he is in the state he is in. His brain helpfully forgot to remind him until he was face-to-face with Douglas about his New Year's activities – confirming Blaine's suspicion that it was a traitor and was only interested in feeding itself. His stomach lurches as the smell of food finally reaches it and he barely makes it back to the bathroom in time – not that there is actually anything else left in his system to bring back up.

He does not expect the firm, gentle hand on his back rubbing soothing circles – he expects raised voices and Disappointment. He expects to be thrown out, not to be fed and looked after.

It should feel patronising but this is the care of a friend not of a parent. This is tenderness. This is understanding and forgiveness, and Blaine wants to hate Douglas for it.

* * *

They do not talk about what happened – it should be strained, but it is not. Both are in as much denial as the other. They go back to their easy schedule – Blaine sightseeing and Douglas working. But their nights find them tossing and turning in separate beds to images of red silk, suits, and the feel of desperate lips and stubble.

Returning to Lima feels like a betrayal and the thought is more confusing to Blaine than it should be. He should be happy to be home with his family and friends again. No one asks him about what happened with Burt but his mother sends Douglas a thank you card and makes Blaine sign it. Blaine cannot explain why the act makes him laugh hysterically for an hour after she suggests it – but he signs it anyway.

Lima is not New York. _Obviously_. But the fact had not hit him until he returned to Lima of how _tiny_ and _insignificant_ everything is there. Nothing is as urgent or important. It all seems watered down and, if he is honest, childish. His friends seem childish – their petty squabbles and talk of Christmas presents, and holiday activities bore him to his core, but he does not share his experiences of New York with them - the good or the bad.

He feels restless. He studies hard – he _needs_ to get into Columbia. He wants to impress Douglas – he wants to prove that he is adult and worthy of his time. _Of him._ He devotes all of his energy to his studies and to being the best he can be at everything. He becomes the epitome of perfection during the day – grades, manners, style.

The nights make his skin crawl. He retreats at home – growing irritable and snappy when his mother attempts to find out about his day. He finds her attention cloying and babying - his perfect grades prevent his father taking harsh action for his withdrawal from family life. He is, after all 19 – he cannot be mothered forever.

Energy crackles under his skin and he feels as if he is losing his mind.

It is Sebastian who calls him out on his behaviour; but Sebastian is easily distracted. Blaine does not have to try hard to convince his friend to accompany him to a club in the next city over. He feels alive the second the music courses through him and he eases himself into the press of bodies. He lets it surge through him – erasing and cleansing him. He finds it oddly cathartic – at once a reminder and a punishment.

The first night out is a success and for a short time afterwards Blaine feels calmer – more focused. But then the itch returns. His mind is a hive of hornets and wasps and bees. He prickles without provocation and it is Sebastian who drags him out. But it is not Sebastian who starts the fight.

He lost his phone somewhere between deflecting the empty bottle that had been aimed at his friend's head, and the bouncer forcibly ejecting him from the club. Afterwards he learns that the bullock of a man who had attacked Sebastian had done so because of a misunderstanding – Blaine's friend had been getting a little too intimate with the meat-mountain's boyfriend and the man had decided to take it upon himself to teach the younger man a lesson with the business end of a beer bottle.

It is an experience Blaine never wants to repeat – being delivered to his parents' house in a police car. His mother is a whirlwind of tears, anger and ferocious disappointment and seems unable to understand that Blaine was actually _defending_ his friend not _fighting_. His father is more helpful and focuses on talking with the police and Sebastian's father. Blaine sends sincere thanks to whoever is up there that Sebastian's father is a state attorney – no charges are being levelled against Blaine.

The early hours are emotional – Blaine's mother, exhausted, retires upon his father's insistence at some point in the lecture that follows the police and Smythes' departures. Bill is angry and disappointed but Blaine can handle that because ultimately, if he had not stepped in, Sebastian would be, at best, in the hospital.

Sleep escapes him – he is too wired – adrenaline and anxiety course through him and he finds himself on his laptop. Reddit, Tumblr, Facebook – he finds tiny distractions, amusing gifsets, anecdotes. He has not indulged in this procrastination for _months_ and there are memes to catch up on. Then he notices something – actually, the lack of something; there are no posts from Sam, or Finn, or Artie..._or Kurt_….and it hits him hard then – how much has changed in such a short time. All because of one mistake. All because he answered a stupid Facebook message when he was feeling lost, undesirable, forgotten and left behind. He almost breaks the laptop with the sudden need to be rid of it. He pulls his knees up to his chest and tries to stop himself from falling apart.

He reaches for his cell – but he lost it in the scuffle. He remembers then the blood and the glass – his knuckles are bruising from where his punches connected. He traces the rust coloured patterns – soon they will be purples, then greens and yellows. Do bruises really ever completely fade?

If the bouncers had not intervened when they had he has no idea what would have happened – the mountain's friends would have likely joined in he supposes. The thought makes him feel nauseous. He needs to talk to someone – someone who has seen him at his worst and did not abandon him. Someone who will still listen and understand even though it has been weeks – he makes his way to the kitchen and uses the landline to dial a number he hopes is right – he has no way to check.

It rings, rings, rings. Click.

'Blaine?' His name is a soft sigh and Blaine's wall crashes down.

* * *

**A/N:**

Well - that's the end of the first part! Sorry this took so long to update - I was on holiday visiting my mum in Florida! I'm back now, however, so I'll be back to making regular updates. The next part should be up by this time next week.

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank everyone for their comments, kudos, and support so far - you are all amazing and I love you. 3  
It really means everything to me, so - thank you.

I hope this story continues to keep you intrigued and interested. Please let me know what you think!

Love, always.  
x-X-x


	11. Chapter 11

**Resignation**

_The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation. - Henry David Thoreau_

* * *

**Lupercalia**

The phone call changed everything – such a tiny event rippled, and against his better judgement, Douglas had found himself answering every time Blaine called him. The calls became a part of his routine – at first they were sporadic; Blaine would call to talk specifically about a certain event – perhaps his frustrations with his parents, or to garner an opinion on a song choice or an experimental new arrangement for the Warblers – but the frequency of the calls gradually increased until they were a daily occurrence. He found himself actively looking forward to their chats – they were a highlight of his day as helping Blaine felt a lot like helping himself. Especially as the Chinese venture, codenamed 'Project Narcissus' by Blaine –

'I suppose that makes you Echo?'

- ramped up. The stress of trying to project manage from New York had been beginning to get to him and Douglas knew that inevitably he would need to head to China to finalise plans with the construction company that had been contracted in. The present version of the blue-prints closely represented Douglas' original design – a minor miracle as, by now, he was very used to civil engineers' attitude to design when confronted with the reality of budgets and timescales.

The first call had come in the wee-hours of the morning – Douglas had been in the space between dreaming and reality where the world is vague and surreal, plagued by loneliness and tormented by stress. Whilst fear and doubt gnawed at his core, his mind had wafted between dark, self-loathing thoughts of past failures and his deep-set fears for the project's seemingly inevitable failure (which would at once confirm to his father both his worthlessness as an architect and his inability to do anything right), and escapist fancies. He would leave it all behind – running away from everything and starting over, perhaps in Italy. His life there would be simple, the food excellent, and he would spend his remaining years carefree sitting, as he had seen folk do in photographs, on a rocking chair on his porch. Perhaps playing cards with a crinkled old man with a tanned leather hide. Perhaps whiling away the hours in the company of a beautiful youth with dark curly hair, smooth golden skin, and eyes the colour of sun-kissed sand…

He had not meant to answer the phone with the lad's name – the results could have been disastrous – what if the caller had been a client, or worse: Roger or Doug?

'Blaine?'

Spoken like a prayer – the slightly shocked and awed whisper of an atheist visited by an angel. But that was how Blaine made him feel. That was the point really – Blaine made him feel. He was escapism – youth and potential and everything Douglas was too old to be… Perhaps Blaine was a revenant soul sent to torment him by representing everything Douglas desired and longed for - appearing whenever he felt weakest?

_No. That face is nothing less than angelic._

That first conversation had been stilted – Blaine had needed to vent and all the lad's frustrations and fears had poured from him like a torrent from a burst dam, but Douglas had remained standing. He had been a rock for Blaine – it was what he had needed and Blaine had opened up in response. The more he talked to Blaine, really _talked_ to him, the more he realised how much he enjoyed the way his mind worked; the lad was sweet and caring, painfully conscientious and utterly guilt-ridden.

It is not until the night the phone call does not come that Douglas really realises how much he _needs_ their daily communiqué. Blaine is his crutch as much as he is Blaine's rock – Douglas feels a little less overwhelmed, a little less lonely, and a little more centred after their discussions. He finds his body reacting physically to the withdrawal of its fix like Pavlov's dog – he paces and grows agitated. _What if something happened? _ His mind tortures him with every possible reason Blaine may be unable, or worse, unwilling to call him. He finds he is simultaneously angry and worried and he struggles to pull himself together when he realises how ridiculous his reaction is – it is not like they ever actually made a formal commitment to these daily telephone conversations.

When the phone finally rings and he hears Blaine's flustered apology, Douglas realises with a startling clarity that his heart is hammering like a teenagers'.

* * *

He finds out about the wedding from Sam – they had bumped into each other (for once Blaine was sans Warblers and Sam minus the New Directions), and for a heartbeat Blaine had feared that the blonde would ignore him. So, the bone shattering hug that would have put the Incredible Hulk to shame that he received instead rendered him temporarily speechless. Cyclops and Wolverine had grabbed coffee together and taken the opportunity to compare notes from the battlefield together – Blaine had initially attempted to steer clear of show choir talk, but Sam, ever the King of Subtlety, had broken the ice immediately by congratulating him on a well-deserved Warbler captain status. He had followed by expressing his regret that things had gone badly in New York with Kurt, however, so Blaine remained unable to speak for a while longer. Sam had always been a whirlwind – Blaine found it oddly refreshing.

They had fallen into a relatively easy conversation about how everyone was doing – Marley's eating disorder, Sue's latest attempt to destroy the (together for "fun" now because "we're family, you know?") New Directions and Finn's leadership, Tina's surprisingly successful Sadie Hawkins dance, and Mr Schue and Ms Pillsburry's upcoming nuptials.

It stung a little – not being invited, but it had not exactly surprised him. After all, he did leave the New Directions to re-join the Warblers...but he _had_ helped Mr Schuester propose. Surely that warranted an invite? _All_ the old New Directions members had been invited after all.

_So, Kurt will be there….perhaps it is best I'm not around then?_

Blaine's thoughts wandered a little as Sam segued (with logic Blaine would have struggled to follow even if he had been paying attention) into the latest news about the wave of hate mail aimed at Sam from Lord Tubbington, and the allegedly "completely separate" tale of Santana's avid hatred of him due to his relationship with her ex – Brittany. Blaine allowed Sam's passion and easy nature to draw him in and temporarily let himself be lost in the surreal gossip. Apparently Santana had suffered a crisis whilst at college and had returned to McKinley, briefly considered becoming the new Sue, then ended up heading to New York to live with Kurt and Rachel after a talk with Brittany. Blaine's head spun a little from trying to keep up with Sam – he was really feeling out of practice – and he was caught off guard when Sam mentioned a couple of things that caught his attention and stuck fast:

1. Rachel was apparently living with that Brody guy she had performed with at Callbacks, however,

2. She was not bringing him to the wedding as her date.

3. The wedding was on Valentine's Day.

4. Kurt was seeing a college guy and was taking him to the wedding

5. As his date.

He had felt the blood drain from his face so he had not really been surprised when even Sam noticed his pallor. Blaine feigned illness and made to leave, but before he could Sam had grabbed his hand:

'Dude, I heard what happened at that club.'

'I'm sorry?' The change of subject confused him sufficiently to keep him seated - conversing with Sam today was giving Blaine whiplash.

'With Sebastian. I, um, that was brave, man. Especially after, you know, the slushie incident and everything. I mean… It was really cool of you to step in and stop that guy from hurting Sebastian.'

'Uh…thanks?'

'So…are you two like…going out now?'

Blaine really had no excuse for what he said next.

'No! God, no! I have a boyfriend.'

'That's so great! I'm glad. You're a really great person, Blaine. You deserve some happiness.'

'I am happy. Thanks, Sam. You too – I mean, with Brittany.'

'Thanks.'

Sam's smile had been 100 watts and Blaine had forced himself to return it as Sam released his hand.

'So…what's he like?'

'Uh…Older.'

'What is he, like, 25?'

'…yeah.' He had laughed nervously and tried to change the topic. 'Um…he lives in New York.'

'That's cool. Does he go to college there?'

'No. Um… he's got a job working for his father's business.'

'Awesome. I bet that's hard though, right.'

'Working for his father?'

'Trying the long distance thing again. It's got to be tough – not being able to see him all the time, right?'

'Huh. Yeah. We talk every night on the phone though – we make time for each other and that's really important.'

Sam had nodded knowingly at Blaine's comment, but all Blaine wanted to do was leave – leave the coffee shop, the conversation, the lies, and the enormous pachyderm in the room, far, far behind him.

_Run away, Blaine. Go on._

'Look, Sam. I have to go – I…uh…I lost my phone in that club –' He fumbles in his coat pocket for a pen and, finding a scrap of manuscript paper, scrawls his home number down and hands it to Sam. '- keep in touch, OK?' He shoots Sam a smile, hoping it looks genuine enough. Sam frowns slightly as he folds the paper and places it in the plaid pocket of his shirt.

'You OK? I mean, really?'

'I'm great, Sam.'

'OK…'

'Call me, yeah?'

Sam nods and Blaine waves as he leaves; his heart and head pounding.

He would spend hours dwelling over what had made him lie to Sam when he finally got home – in fact, it was the reason he had been late calling Douglas that evening. When he had finally gathered the courage to call he had not told Douglas about the conversation with Sam, or the plane tickets he had impulse purchased for the days bracketing Valentine's Day; and, for the first time since they had started this…whatever _this_ phone thing they were doing was…Blaine had not felt better when he finally bid Douglas goodnight.

* * *

He actually felt worse the closer he got to New York. The plane journey was hellish - the toddler behind him kept kicking his seat and her much younger sibling seemed to take extremely violent and loud exception to the change in air pressure in the cabin. He actively kept his mind as blank as possible, refusing to allow himself to second guess Douglas' reaction to his turning up unannounced as he knew how poisonous his thoughts could be, and once landed, he would probably just end up running away again. Instead he distracted himself with planning the perfect surprise dinner - justifying it to himself as a way of finally thanking Douglas for his generosity and friendship. However, the turbulence as the flight approached JFK airport did nothing to help the sick feeling in his gut.

It took him longer than it should have to get a cab as he kept letting little old ladies, pregnant women, families with small children, women with small dogs…who was he kidding? - he let _everyone_ take a cab before him.

_You're delaying the inevitable…_

Eventually there was no one to surrender his position in line to and he found himself standing, once again, outside Douglas' building opposite Central Park on 5th Avenue on the Upper East Side.

He had prepared a note for Douglas - anonymous of course (where would the surprise be otherwise?) – requesting his presence at a little Italian restaurant Blaine had been particularly fond of, that evening for dinner. He passed the note to the active concierge – Gerry this evening – and explained his plan. Once Gerry had sworn secrecy Blaine had headed out into New York to check into the hotel he had booked – there was no way he was expecting Douglas to feel obligated to put him up this time! Blaine showered in an attempt to feel more human after the flight and then spent the rest of the day wandering by the Hudson – for once unconcerned and a little free with the knowledge that anyone he may not want to accidentally run into would actually be in Lima by now.

He returned to his hotel room to dress for dinner then headed to the restaurant, ensuring that he would be at least half an hour early – he was intimately familiar with Douglas' schedule and how long it would take him to change and get to the restaurant after work.

It was only then, surrounded by oblivious dining lovers on the night before Valentine's Day, that he allowed himself to panic.


	12. Chapter 12

**Safety Net**

* * *

He had been torn between waiting in for Blaine's daily phone call and making his way into the city to meet his mystery dinner guest. Gerry had stubbornly refused to break the anonymous note-writer's confidence, and Douglas had found himself steadfastly refusing to read anything in to it. That was until he found himself subconsciously matching ties, shirts, suits and shoes in his head.

A part of him, one that should have been a lot smaller than it was, had allowed himself to fantasise that it would be Blaine, and seeing the youth in the flesh through the window of _Barbarini's _did something strange to Douglas' chest. He found himself walking past the restaurant and stopped a little way down the street out of breath and sweaty palmed.

_This is it then. This is the moment that changes everything. There is no going back after this. You have to be the adult here – you have to set the boundaries. Go in, be a gentleman and talk to him – this may just be an innocent meal between friends._

_On February 13__th__._

_See – he didn't choose Valentine's day! Stop reading too much into things. Pull yourself together – you are a grown man over twice his age for goodness sakes! _

He took a couple of calming breaths then turned around, straightened his tie, and headed into the restaurant.

As always, Blaine took his breath away – he had a couple of moments between the _maître d'_ taking his winter dress coat and leading him to his table to take in the sight of Blaine. He was radiant in the soft candlelight and for a moment Douglas allowed himself to pretend this was a date. He managed to shake the thought away by the time he reached the table and his eyes once again locked with the warm amber of his companion's. He thought he saw relief in them but it could have been a trick of the light.

Blaine stood, the perfect gentleman, upon seeing Douglas and waited until the older man had taken a seat before retaking his. Douglas smiled gently at him.

'Thank you.'

The soft timbre of his voice was so much _more _in person and Douglas found that he had missed this – the simplicity of dining together; of breaking bread and conversing. But there was a fragility there that he suddenly could not bear.

'Whatever for, Blaine?'

'Coming. I…I wasn't wholly sure that you would.'

'I'll admit – your note intrigued me.' Douglas noted the faint hint of colour as it brushed Blaine's cheeks highlighting his cheekbones in extremely attractive way. He licked his lips. 'I would have come immediately had you signed your name to your request – I was not certain that I was going to show myself until I found myself outside.'

He was not sure why he teased Blaine, but he found that he liked the way his companion's lashes brushed the apples of his cheeks when he looked down in embarrassment. He found that he was even more fond of the way Blaine's eyes darted back up to capture his own – hypnotising and swirling with reflected flames.

The _sommelier_ broke the spell and Blaine deferred to Douglas'

'far greater age and expertise'

when it came to choose the wine for the evening. Douglas found himself having to clear his throat when he saw the light smile twist Blaine's lips – the lad was teasing him back.

Years ago Douglas would have been nervous dining in public with another man – but with Blaine it felt _right_ somehow. Perhaps it was the lad's age – perhaps everyone assumed Blaine was his son or nephew. Perhaps it was because New York had changed, or that everyone there was too wrapped up in their own conversations to notice? Or perhaps it was because Douglas no longer cared what anyone else thought?

* * *

'So, Blaine, what brings you back to New York? I'm surprised you didn't mention a visit when we spoke yesterday.'

Douglas took a bite of his sirloin as he waited patiently for Blaine to finish his sip of Bordeaux. They had discussed all manner of things but nothing of real consequence, and Douglas had finally reached the limit of his patience – Blaine did not seem willing to broach the topic naturally and it was killing Douglas not knowing. He glanced at the almost empty bottle on the table – perhaps it was a combination of needing to understand what this was and _wine_.

Blaine seemed about to speak when the _sommelier_ reappeared to replace the empty bottle with a fresh one. The tiny Italian man made pouring wine an art form but Douglas felt impatience rumbling as the gentleman took his time.

Douglas took a sip himself once the _sommelier_ had left again, and glanced over the rim of the glass at Blaine as the young man cleared his throat.

'I…hm.' The little, uncertain huff resonated through Douglas and he found himself leaning forwards towards Blaine. Their eyes met and it was as if his world had reduced right down to the table and the devastatingly handsome man opposite him. Later, when he replayed the events of that evening in his head, over and over, he would be unable to recall who reached across for whose hand first – but he would remember with utter clarity the warmth of long, soft fingers entwined with his own. He would dwell upon the reassuring brush of a thumb over the silky smoothness of the back of Blaine's hand and the way the younger man's breath had hitched slightly. 'I wanted to see you.'

His confession is soft and almost silent, but Douglas feels his body react.

* * *

After dessert, coffee, and iced _limoncello_ he feels something within him twist as the young waiter who had been giving Blaine eyes all evening jokes with him, and Blaine laughs lightly in response. Sharply freezing bubbles writhe within his core and multiply as he watches, and later, much later, he will realise that it was at least partly because, deep down, he _knows_ that the young blonde waiter would be better for Blaine – he is, if nothing else, closer in age to him. But right then in the candlelight with the rich aromas of thyme, lemon, coffee, red fruits and sharp tannin enveloping them, and the alcohol warming his veins; all he knows is that he needs that look – that flirty and unself-conscious laughter to be aimed at _him_. Not at the boy-waiter who looks like he would be more comfortable on a beach on the west coast – _he is probably another want-to-be model or actor_.

He watches as Blaine pays and makes silent plans to reciprocate the next evening now that he knows Blaine's itinerary. He drains the remaining _limoncello_ from his glass, then stands, and purposefully takes Blaine's overcoat from the waiter, holding it out for him himself. Blaine's cheeks are glowing with alcohol but Douglas feels his companion's physical reaction to his gesture as his hand brushes Blaine's arm. He only just manages to prevent himself from kissing Blaine's cheek and instead allows the waiter to help him with his own overcoat, then steps back and gestures for Blaine to lead the way back out into the bracing February air. A small part (which should really have been larger) is grateful for the sobering effect of the wind, but he still finds himself holding out his arm for Blaine.

'Come back to mine for a coffee?'

* * *

Blaine love-hates the way that Douglas' questions usually seem to be commands, and the way that his body always says "yes" before his mind can rebel, but with the warmth of the wine, lemon liqueur, and the fullness of a rich meal he can think of no better way to end the evening.

They get a taxi back to Douglas' and for the second time that day he finds himself outside Douglas' building. Being the consummate gentleman, Douglas gets the door for Blaine and Blaine feels an uncomfortable pang of remembrance for when he used to perform that gesture for Kurt. Bitterness creeps into his mouth and he shivers violently in response as the warm air from the foyer hits him. He almost misses Douglas' concerned look and Blaine manages to shake his head lightly as Douglas calls the elevator.

It feels so strange to find himself being stripped of his jacket again in Douglas' hallway, however, this time he is wearing shoes. He giggles a little at the thought and has to grip a nearby mahogany ladder-back hall chair to stabilise himself as he fumbles the laces.

'Coffee?'

Douglas' voice is like a lighthouse beacon and allows Blaine to focus again through the fog of his cluttered, jagged thoughts and he manages to nod before a dark thought reaches the surface.

'Actually – how about a nightcap?'

He does not miss the slight surprise in Douglas' eyes as he takes in Blaine's appearance and Blaine forces himself to look adult and sober in response. He feels a tremor of excitement as Douglas nods his head slightly and makes his way into the main living room instead of the kitchen. Blaine follows, revelling in the feeling of his cold, sock clad feet in the thick, deep pile of the cream carpets.

He had only briefly seen the living room before and he takes the opportunity to actually appreciate it this time. One wall is papered with a pattern he cannot make out in duck egg and cream - the others are an inviting latte, and Blaine watches from the doorway as Douglas lights the four small bronze table lamps before making his way to the crystal decanter on the sideboard.

'Bourbon alright?' Douglas' voice is a little gruff but Blaine puts it down to the late hour and cold air.

'Perfect, thank you.'

He turns and finds that the wallpaper is actually a map of New York, and Blaine finds himself smiling at how utterly _Douglas_ it is. He notices other things too – the way that the table lamps are art neuveau works of art in their own right, reflecting the lily theme from the hall - but the thing that really catches Blaine's eye is the clock on the mantelpiece. It is an intricate skeleton clock and Blaine finds himself drawn to the movement. Above the fireplace is a large over-mantle mirror with a heavy cream and bronze frame – the darkness of the glass, and the flaking of the foil suggest age, but it aside from using it to ensure his hair was still perfectly intact and had remained un-ravaged by the wind, it does not hold his interest for long. Instead his attention is captured by a small unassuming pen-and-ink picture in a frame – no more than a sketch of a small bird at first glance, however, under closer scrutiny one can see it is made up of a number of impossibly small gears – almost as if it were a design for a mechanical toy.

The clink of ice against lead-crystal startles him slightly and he turns to find Douglas holding out a short tumbler containing dark amber liquid that smells of oak and warm fires in Winter.

'Sorry – I was distracted by your bird.'

Douglas smiles as Blaine takes the glass.

'Just a sketch I did when I was in college.'

'It's so detailed.'

'Thank you.'

There is a moment when neither man moves, but it is broken when Douglas smiles slightly then gestures to the regency-style couch.

Blaine follows and takes a seat feeling suddenly nervous and a little overwhelmed. He takes a sip to settle his nerves and is dimly aware that he must be drunk when he does not flinch at the strength of the alcohol.

* * *

He is actually happy and relaxed and comfortable for the first time since _before_ and he enjoys the warmth of his limbs. They feel loose and his is tempted to dance but he really wants to prove to Douglas that he is worthy of his attention so he forces himself to keep still. Douglas is smiling and Blaine finds himself simply appreciating his friend for the umpteenth time that evening. His eyes are _fascinating_ – he does not think he has ever seen such dark eyes before – they are close to Doug's but somehow they are warmer tonight, not frosted as they usually are. He leans forward a little to get a better look – to try to see what it was about that specific moment that makes Douglas' eyes so warm - when he suddenly realises he is staring. Mortified, he tries to look away but Douglas is smiling and it is so warm and genuine that Blaine cannot tear his eyes away from the man in front of him. It is only when he notices out of the corner of his eye that both his and Douglas' glasses are empty that he finds the strength to reach out and gently take Douglas' from him. He has to use every ounce of concentration to ensure that he does not wobble as he makes his way over to the sideboard – things are simultaneously in slow motion and fast-forward and he feels a little off. The last thing he wants is to break a glass or, god forbid, the decanter, so he tries to concentrate as he pours out two more measures but his arms do not seem to be co-operating as well as he would like.

'Charming.'

He is not certain Douglas actually spoke so he turns slightly and raises a questioning eyebrow.

'Sorry?'

'You. You are utterly charming.'

'Um…thank you?'

'You really are you know. That first time I saw you - you mesmerised me, Blaine.'

His heart is hammering in his ears and his thoughts are cluttered but he manages to make his way back to the sofa without spilling the whiskey. Douglas' fingers brush his own as he passes over the glass, and Blaine finds himself craving their warmth. He settles down close to Douglas – their thighs touch and the heat of them spreads up through his system. He gently clinks his glass to Douglas' in a toast and Douglas smiles a little, questioningly.

'What was that for?'

'You. Project Narcissus. I realised we hadn't celebrated.'

The smile Douglas gives him illuminates the room and Blaine finds that he never wants it to leave and the inevitability of its departure is a physical ache inside him. He feels the familiar threat of tears prickle in the back of his throat and the corners of his eyes so he forces himself to take a sip of the bourbon to stave them off.

'Thank you for tonight.' Douglas' voice is warm and Blaine bathes in it as the alcohol slides down.

'No – thank you for showing up.'

'I've missed this, you know.'

'I missed you too.'

A hand brushes his thigh, but it must have been his imagination because Douglas made it clear last time that they are just friends. But they aren't just friends, are they? Blaine's mind whirrs as he desperately tries to piece together what _this_ is before he makes a complete fool of himself _again_. His mind helpfully gives him a brief show of the _Gap Attack_ disaster and he grimaces.

'Are you OK, Blaine?'

The warm weight of the hand on his thigh is distracting but he manages to nod.

'Yes. Yes. Sorry – my… uh… my thoughts went somewhere for a minute there.'

Douglas looks concerned, and is it Blaine's imagination or is he leaning closer to him? Blaine finds himself leaning in closer to Douglas and he can feel the warmth of the other man's breath against his lips. That is all it takes.

* * *

He wakes up slowly, so slowly, and vows _again_ that he will never, ever, have another drink. It is warm under the pristine white sheets and goose-down duvet so he snuggles back down for a moment before the icy chill brings him to terrifying sobriety.

He is in the guest room at Douglas' not in the hotel room he booked.

He is naked.

Desperately he tries to piece together the previous night's events after they got back to Douglas' for a drink. He remembers talking on the couch. He recalls the comfortable warmth and how at home he felt and the look in Douglas' eyes. The one that had made him want to never leave.

And rejection.

It is there – clear as day; he remembers Douglas' hand on his thigh and the way he had leant towards Blaine. He had been _mesmerised_ – that was the word he had used. You were not mesmerised by friends. They were not friends. Blaine remembered keenly how desperately he had wanted to feel Douglas' lips against his own again – his body had been keening for it, and he had known then exactly what he had wanted – he had wanted Douglas. He had wanted Douglas since the day he had first seen him, and, more than that – Douglas had wanted _him_.

Suddenly, more than breathing, Blaine needed to know. He needed to know whether what was between them was real. He launched himself out of bed and was about to head to the kitchen before he realised that he was nude. Throwing his eveningwear back on he made his way out into the hallway and back into the kitchen he was almost as familiar with as the one in his parents' house.

Douglas was there, immaculately dressed as always, reading with a mug of steaming coffee and a bacon roll and Blaine's heart flipped lightly at the homely sight and aroma. He stopped in his tracks and watched for what felt like _hours_. He took a steadying breath.

_What is the worst that can happen here? I have a hotel room booked so if he kicks me out I have somewhere to go so it's not like last time but at least I will know. I need to know that this is not all in my head… _

'I think we need to talk.' It came out strong and sure, and Blaine counted that as an initial success.

'I know.' Douglas' reply was resigned and Blaine frowned in response. 'I'm sorry about last night, Blaine.'

The words stung like nettles and Blaine felt his skin prickle.

'Why?'

'I shouldn't have let…' He trails off but there is something in Douglas' eyes that sends off a spark in Blaine's.

'Shouldn't have let what, Douglas?'

'I can't let this happen.'

'Let what happen?'

'Please don't.'

'Don't what?'

'Don't make me spell it out.'

'Why? I think someone needs to because I don't think we are on the same page here at all.'

'I am scared, Blaine.'

'What of?'

'Me.'

He feels frozen in place on Douglas' kitchen floor, unable to breathe lest he shatter into a thousand fragile shards - but he needs to know.

'I need to be the adult here.'

'No.'

'I'm sorry?'

'No – you don't get to use age against me, Douglas.'

'Blaine –'

'No. It's a feeble excuse and you know it is.'

He watches Douglas shrink before him and a part of Blaine feels horrible for causing it, but he knows simultaneously that this conversation will make them both stronger in the long run, regardless of its outcome. He takes a breath.

'What are you scared of, Douglas?'

'Please let me be strong, Blaine.'

'How is letting you deny this letting you be strong? Explain it to me – I'm a child remember? Sometimes I need an adult to explain things to me.'

'Don't -'

'Don't _what_? Don't fall for you because I'm sorry to tell you this but it is a bit too late for that.' He can feel the frustration rising in his blood and he knows he's losing control but he cannot bring himself to care. Douglas' silence infuriates him and he feels himself raise his voice. 'Deny it, Douglas. Deny it. You have feelings for me too and you are too much of a coward to let yourself consider the possibility that I might be able to make you happy.' The words fall around them like ash and Blaine finds himself walking towards where Douglas is sat seemingly frozen. 'I want to make you happy, Douglas. Let me?'

He reaches out and takes Douglas' hand in his own and gently pulls the taller man to his feet.

'What are you scared of?'

'You're so young…'

'It's what other people will think, right? Let them talk! It's not a new concept – there's no rule book. I'm not a minor so it's not breaking any laws. Stop. Stop making excuses. Please.' Douglas' free hand strays hesitantly to Blaine's hip and Blaine moves in closer a little dizzy with the power of instigating. 'Does it look like I'm running away, Dougl-?'

It takes his breath away when he feels Douglas' lips press against his own and his hand pull him in closer until his body is pressed against the taller man's. Douglas tastes like coffee and cinnamon and Blaine feels himself moan a little as he gives himself to the physical pressure of _lips_. He cups the other man's stubbled jaw with his free hand as he guides Douglas' other hand to join the other behind him, freeing his other hand to slide up around Douglas' neck. A thrill runs through him as he leads the kiss – opening his lips a little to encourage Douglas and pressing their chests together – but he does not relax fully until he feels the other man stop, then trail sweet kisses down Blaine's neck in a strange reversal of their last attempt at this - but this time they are both sober. This time there is no miscommunication.

Blaine feels Douglas' hands grip the material of his shirt, untucking it at the back, and Blaine turns his head back to meet the taller man's lips again feeling them tighten as they pull into an uncertain smile. Blaine finds himself smiling back and gently rests his forehead against Douglas'.

'Good talk?'

'Good talk.'

Douglas' laugh is free and Blaine finds himself reciprocating – it is a funny kind of high for a moment, both lost in the surreal nature of how their heated argument descended into a make-out session. Blaine closes his eyes as he tries to absorb what just happened but feels guilt nibble at him. Douglas' hand gently lifts Blaine's chin and their eyes meet.

'Are you OK?' Douglas' eyes are dark and intense. Blaine looks down.

He is not completely sure why, but somehow he feels a little dirty – as if he is somehow betraying Kurt, _again_ – but Kurt is not his; Kurt is in Lima with his new college boyfriend at Mr. Schue's wedding. Blaine is not doing anything wrong.

Blaine lets his eyes meet Douglas' again and he sees the worry beneath the warm chocolate and he can _feel_ Douglas closing himself off again. He cannot let that happen.

'I'm fine.' He forces himself to smile but he knows Douglas will see straight through it so he kisses him instead – it is soft and chaste but it seems to have the desired effect.

'So…what now?'

'Um… Happy Valentine's Day, I guess.'

Douglas laughs then, and Blaine feels like he has at least done something right – as confused as he feels in that instant he somehow knows that he will be alright so long as he can keep making Douglas smile.

'I meant – would you like breakfast? But Happy Valentine's Day to you too, Blaine.'

'Oh! Sorry. Yes – breakfast would be good.'

He untangles himself from Blaine seemingly reluctantly and makes his way over to the grill.

'What did you have planned for the rest of your mini break – which I am beginning to suspect involved wooing me…'

'You suspect correctly.' Blaine winks at Douglas as he fixes Blaine a bacon sandwich and some coffee. 'Seriously though – I didn't really plan much further than dinner yesterday. I…I don't really know what I was thinking only that I was hoping…I…' His eyes drop to his hands and he finds himself fascinated by his fingers.

'No – you don't get to go all coy now, Mr. Anderson. Not after that lovely speech you gave me. We still need to talk about…whatever _this_ is…but first - breakfast and some fresh air?'

Not for the first time he finds himself utterly grateful for Douglas. Blaine meets his eyes and nods slightly, then consciously forces himself to push the niggling _wrong_ feeling to the side and to focus on building the foundations with Douglas.

* * *

**A/N**: As always I just want to thank you all for your continued support. Work has broken up for the holidays now so I should be back to updating more regularly (this and "Morning Song"!). Thank you for bearing with me. I love you all. x-X-x


	13. Chapter 13

**Falling Stars and Setting Suns**

* * *

Kurt felt sick, and not an "I've had too much to drink" sick, or an "I don't think that seafood was fresh" sick - _Sick _sick, like "what am I doing in a hotel room alone with this man?" sick. Thinking back; it had something to do with what Sam had said to him, though, now when his ears were ringing like church bells he wonders whether he simply misheard. Definition: wishful thinking?

Mr. Schue's wedding had been a disaster from start to finish – for one thing the bride had "done a runner" as Finn had so delicately put it, and for another there were some _seriously_ questionable design choices regarding both the decorations and a couple of the guests' dress choices. At least there were baby cupcakes – he needed something sweet to try to take away the bitter taste in his mouth.

If he had not met Brittany he would have had difficulty believing that someone with as little tact could actually exist – with Sam and Brittany together it was like being trapped in the _Legally Blonde _musical. Sidebar – no one was surprised that the two blondes were now a couple. Frankly Kurt was kind of fascinated by their dynamic – what could two such, special, individuals discuss behind closed doors? He still cannot recall how the subject of his ex-boyfriend even came up, but he had found himself listening to Sam talking about coffee, then suddenly he was hearing about Blaine's older, not-in-college, works-for-his-father in New York boyfriend and Kurt had felt as if he had fallen from a great height. His ears were full of static and Sam had carried on, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Kurt had stopped breathing. Kurt had been saved suddenly when Sam had been dragged onto the dance floor by Brittany with no more than a 'Later, dude!'

Maybe that is why he had agreed to go upstairs with Adam to the hotel room the blue-eyed Brit had booked for them. So far, Kurt had avoided staying _with_ Adam using the excuse that he should spend some time with his father while he was back in Ohio – especially as his father had prostate cancer and was undergoing treatment. Kurt finds it concerning that it did not occur to him to ask his father whether Adam could stay with him – it just _didn't_.

'Are you OK, Kurt?'

Adam's voice is soft and the concern in his blue eyes makes something within Kurt twist. He manages to nod but is met with a raised eyebrow.

'We don't have to do anything if you don't feel ready.'

For some reason he cannot place, Kurt finds that statement hilarious but he manages to reduce his external reaction to a nervous giggle and raises a hand to cover his mouth. It's so painful – the tenderness with which Adam gently takes Kurt's hand down.

'You don't have to hide from me, Kurt. But if _this_ is going to work I think you need to be honest with me.'

'I'm fine, Adam. I'm here aren't I?'

'Are you?'

'What is that even supposed to mean?'

'It's just…' Adam keeps hold of Kurt's hand and makes to move closer to him but Kurt steps back before he has even processed Adam's insinuated intention. 'Exactly this! I feel like you're not really here with me. You spent the first half of the day like a meerkat in the church. Who were you looking for? Your ex?'

'I wasn't looking _for_ anybody.'

'Look, Kurt. I really, really like you. And I think…I think that we could have something really great. But it takes two, Kurt. And right now – I'm not sure you're in this with me.'

'I'm here with you. I invited you. Isn't that enough?'

'I deserve better, Kurt.'

'Then go get better!' The volume of his voice shocks him slightly and he takes another step backwards, away from Adam, away from this conversation. He needs to think – he needs out of this. He needs to understand why it still hurts.

_He cheated on me – I'm supposed to be moving on. There is a gorgeous man in a hotel room with me, who _wants_ me, and I don't want him. I want _him_ but he's not here and he's moved on and I shouldn't want him because he hurt me so badly…_

A hand on his shoulder breaks his internal derailment.

'You're not over him.'

'I want to be! I'm trying to be.' It feels like falling.

* * *

Snuggled into the supple leather of the chair in the library he lets himself be lost for a while. Douglas had left for work with a kiss and a promise of a romantic dinner, leaving the lingering spice of aftershave and cinnamon on Blaine's clothes. Douglas had suggested that he check-out of the hotel, so Blaine had braced the bitter February chill to retrieve his bag and settle his bill then had made his way back to the comfort of the penthouse and settled back into the guestroom. The fluttering feeling that had been present since that first kiss had intensified as he had used the key Douglas had given him and now his belly felt full of snakes; writhing. He clutched the mug in his hand tighter and tried to focus on the text in front of him, but the words kept blurring into each other as his mind meandered across the page. Eventually he gave up and let himself try to work through his thoughts and feelings. Compare and contrast. An exercise.

_Why does this time feel different? I've had a boyfriend before. It was serious and I __loved__love__ love__d__ him. But he doesn't love me. So I moved on. To someone who loves me for who I am – broken, damaged, pathetic. _

_Are we a couple now? He said we needed to talk but he kissed me… and it felt… good. It felt good. Not like kissing Kurt. Not like kissing Eli. Not like kissing Kurt. _

_Maybe he kissed me out of pity. No, he's better than that._

_Better than you._

_He's a grown man! He's a successful businessman. What could I offer him really? I'm just a boy who plays at love._

_But he sees _me_. He does not treat me like a child. He treats me like an equal. He makes me feel sexy and wanted and _safe_. He makes me feel. I think I could love him. I think I could take away his loneliness. I want to make him happy – he has been so good to me – I want to give something back. This is something I can give him._

_You make it sound like a business transaction._

_You don't know what you are doing, Blaine. You're just a boy. What will stop you repeating the same mistakes over and over?_

_What if he comes back and doesn't want me? _

_What if he does?_

* * *

'Roger, I don't know what I'm doing.'

His hands are shaking as he holds the cell phone.

'Diggsie,' his brother's voice exudes exasperation, 'I _warned_ you. I told you to be careful. You're going to have to let the lad down gently.'

'He's something special, Rog. He makes me feel and it has been so long since I felt this way. I _tried_ to keep my distance but he's like the sun and I couldn't stay away.'

'You need to talk to him about this.'

'I know. I know.' He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. 'You know… In all my other relationships I don't think I ever fell this hard this quickly before. He makes me want to be a better person.'

'He's a teenager.'

'You don't think I know that? You don't think I know how bad this will look?'

'Calm down.'

Douglas grits his teeth in response.

'Look, Diggsie, I don't know what to tell you here. Dad's going to have an aneurism…but if you're happy –'

'I think I could be.'

'Then try it.'

'You make it sound like a foreign vegetable.'

'You were always the romantic, Diggsie.'

He closes his eyes and swallows.

'What do I do, Rog?'

'I can't tell you who to date but I can be here for you when it all goes to shit.'

'Thanks for the vote of confidence, little brother.'

'Anytime.'

A smile.

'Just a suggestion – make sure you are certain before you go public. Take it slow for a bit first? Just be _sure_, OK?'

'OK.'

* * *

His fingers itch. He wants to text Kurt – it had been his first instinct for so long. But, even if he still had Kurt's number – if he had not lost his phone in that club – he _cannot_.

_Kurt has moved on. You heard Sam – he has a date for Mr. Schue's wedding (which must be happening right now…I hope they got the flowers I sent. I hope by sending them I was not overstepping). Kurt. Kurt has moved on. Without you. He's probably very happy. He deserves to be happy. It's about time you moved on too._

His fingertips worry the leather binding in his lap – tracing letters across the surface. Words. Patterns. Dreams.

He wishes it were easy. It has been so easy with Kurt – after their initial fumblings and misunderstandings. They were all firsts to mark off together.

This, with Douglas, is different. He knew it would be, academically speaking, of course. But, in so many ways it is the same – the flutter in his gut when they are due to meet is the same. The chill of anticipation. The deep tightening and sigh of arousal. The sensitivity of touch. All those physical markers of attraction – these are all the same. But this time there is a niggle. Perhaps there is always a niggle after your first relationship? Maybe it is normal. Maybe it is there to stop you making the same mistakes again. Maybe it is there to remind you that you blew your first love.

He briefly considers trying to talk to Sebastian or Hunter – he dismisses Doug immediately for obvious reasons – but he does not think either boy would be useful. They are not exactly kin to the concept of Romance, and Hunter would probably just high-five him…

He groans in frustration.

The scrape-jingle of a key in the lock breaks his reverie and he realises that his coffee is long-cold.

* * *

They do not discuss _them_ until they get back from dinner – both flitter instead around bright topics of distraction like moths. Neither really has an appetite anyway.

The living room is warm when they settle down on the sofa beside each other. Each clutching lead crystal, hearts pounding, heads buzzing.

Douglas breaks first.

'I've been thinking…'

Blaine studies his companion and notices the tightness of his jaw as Douglas' sentence trails off, the words hanging in the air like incense.

'So have I.'

'I don't know what _this _is. But I do know that I really care about you, Blaine.'

'I care about you too.'

'And I want…I trust you. I trust you to know how you are feeling, and I trust you to always be honest with me.' Douglas takes Blaine's free hand in his and their eyes lock – honey and chocolate reflecting each other and blending in swirls of emotion and turmoil. 'If we are going to try _this_…I think…I think we need to take it slowly.'

His throat feels tight and Blaine cannot trust himself to speak so he simply nods his agreement. Douglas seems to understand.

'I don't know what this is between us – whether it is love or lust or loneliness or some twisted blend of the three, but I do know I don't want to go another day without at least _trying_ to find out what it is, Blaine. Does that make sense?'

The corners of his eyes crinkle with his smile and Blaine finds himself mirroring the expression. He swallows in an attempt to rid his throat of the dry-feeling.

'Okay.'

* * *

The feeling of Douglas' lips on his own was fresh on his mind as he arrived back in Ohio. They had stayed up for most of the previous night talking – talking about parents and past relationships and careers. About favourite colours and composers and films. Then they had retired to their separate beds with a kiss and Blaine had found himself tossing and writhing with frustration – the first downside to being a teenager in a relationship with an older man and agreeing to "take it slowly".

He focuses on getting top grades so that he can go to Columbia – he feels as if a veil has been lifted from his mind and he has regained his focus. If Sebastian notices the difference in Blaine he does not mention it.

Seeing Doug should have been awkward but Blaine knows that "taking it slow" in part means that Douglas wants to be _sure_ before telling his family – so Doug does not know. Yet. He has some time to cross that bridge in the future and it is definitely not something he is looking forward to. He tries to relate to how Doug may respond by imagining if Cooper dated one of his friends – but soon dismisses his idle speculation for what it is and pushes the thought to the side to worry about when he has to.

He did not expect to bump into Burt – he had steadfastly avoided driving near the Hummel-Hudson household and had skirted around "Hummel Tyres and Lube" keeping it at a distance. He convinced himself it was because he was embarrassed by what happened over Christmas. So bumping into Burt during routine grocery shopping was not something he had been prepared for. Luckily his mother had been a couple of isles over looking for some chestnuts for her chestnut and pancetta soup.

'Blaine, hi.'

'Mr. Hummel.'

'Good to see you, kid.'

'You too. You look….well.' He cringes internally because every time he thinks of Mr. Hummel now the man is inextricably linked to "Cancer".

'You too. Look, Blaine, I'm sorry about what happened with Kurt -'

'It's fine. Really. I don't blame him.'

'I know. But I feel kind of responsible.'

'Don't. It was probably for the best.'

Burt gives Blaine a look like he can see right through him and Blaine forces himself not to break eye contact with the man he was certain would be family.

'How's the treatment going?' Blaine kicks himself for using Burt's disease as a distraction, but it works and he breathes a tiny sigh of relief as the senior Hummel drops the subject.

'Well – it's intensive. But I'm a fighter. Carole and Kurt have me on all these homeopathic remedy things - you don't want to know the details, but Hummel men are fighters.'

'That you are.'

The silence stretches between them like filo.

'Keep me in the loop, okay?'

'You bet I will.'

'Thank you.'

'Take care of yourself, Anderson.'

'You too, sir.'

'How many times do I have to tell you – call me Burt.'

'Take care, Burt.'

Blaine watches the other man walk away and leans heavily on the shopping cart as his knees weaken. He drags air deep into his lungs and tries to blink the black swarm out of his vision. He meets up with his mother once he can see again and lets his body act of its own accord until he is back in the safety of his room. It is then, and only then, that he allows himself to cry.


	14. Chapter 14

**Treading Water**

* * *

It had seemed like a good idea – sensible and very _adult_ to "take it slow", which roughly translated as making sure that they were both in the right headspace, so to speak. The reality is so much more frustrating and he is not wholly sure why he thought that the distance would actually make things easier. The weeks since Valentine's Day drag by painfully slowly though they talk every night without fail, even when Douglas' stress levels are sky-high the closer his trip to China gets. For Blaine, it is small comfort every time he hears the _click_ of the phone being answered, or each time the house phone rings – however, once his parents had started asking questions as to _why_ Roger's brother was calling for Blaine so often he had suggested to Douglas that he only call Blaine when they were certain that it would be Blaine who answered the phone. The sneaking around had felt sexy and dangerous at first, but the initial tingling shudder that possessed his body whenever the phone rang eventually faded back to a subtle swoop in the pit of his stomach.

Blaine had started to feel tetchy and his friends had noticed him withdraw a little from them – he preferred to keep his evenings free for his boyfriend than spend it with his friends – and both Sebastian and Hunter had given him hell over it. Ironically, only Doug had defended Blaine – Blaine was not certain that Doug would continue his defence of Blaine's actions when he learnt the identity of Blaine's mysterious older man.

However, on the bright-side Blaine was acing his classes as, whilst alone and waiting for 10pm to come, he had plenty of time to get homework and assignments done. The other benefit was that the Warblers held a large percentage of his attention and they had never sounded better. He was actually pretty confident that they would win their upcoming Regionals competition against the Whiffenpoofs and the Hoosier Daddies. He suspected that this was the only thing keeping Sebastian and Hunter on his side overall as neither had lost interest in the identity of Blaine's boyfriend and both were rapidly growing tired of Blaine's dancing around the subject. Hunter outright accused him of making it all up where as Sebastian was certain that Blaine was back with Kurt "after everything that happened".

'He's right to keep it a secret. Hell, I'd be embarrassed if I got back with someone that not only dumped me, but then abandoned me in New York! Seriously – no wonder he's hiding it! It's not like Hummel's actually hot – Blaine knows he could do far better.'

Hunter frowns slightly at Sebastian's monologue and raises his eyebrows at Doug.

'Don't ask me. He's not said a word to me about it. If he doesn't want to tell us – we have to respect that.' Doug finishes off the last of his coffee and glances over to where Blaine is getting their next round. He catches Hunter's eyes and smiles slightly when Hunter rolls his.

'Regardless – I don't get why he won't hang out anymore. Whether it is Kurt or isn't, or whether there actually _is_ a guy – in all scenarios there is no excuse. Kurt lives in New York, as does the debatable mystery man so it's not like they're fucking every night or anything.' Hunter finishes the last piece of biscotti.

'I don't know. Maybe something else is up.'

'Like what, Doug?' Sebastian raises an eyebrow in question.

'Like, something at home?'

'Nah – he'd tell us.' Hunter dismisses Doug's idea flippantly just as Blaine settles the four fresh coffees down on the table.

'What're we discussing?' Blaine smiles but it is forced and earns him a frown from Sebastian.

'We are still debating the identity –'

'Or existence!' Hunter adds.

'Yes – or existence, of this boyfriend who keeps you from us.' Sebastian raises his cup in a mock toast to Blaine.

'Seriously guys? Give it a break already.' Blaine's face drops and he hides by prising the lid from the paper cup and adding sugar.

'I'm thinking of starting a betting pool. I reckon the rest of the guys would go in on it. Doug – you could get the football team in on it, right? I'll take the lacrosse team and Hunter can sort the Warblers.' Sebastian watches Blaine's face intently as he makes his thinly veiled threat. Blaine rolls his eyes and fiddles with the plastic lid.

'What can I do to make you just drop it?' He sighs.

'Hang with us? Tell us the truth?' Hunter suggests.

'I have told you – we're taking it slow. It's…new, for both of us – and we want to be certain. How is that hard to grasp?' Blaine's frustration is palpable and Doug shoots Hunter a warning glance which he promptly ignores.

'What's wrong with him?'

'Nothing! Why does anything have to be wrong with him? He's actually pretty damn near perfect!'

'Hey, Blaine – they're just teasing you. Just drop it, guys.' Doug pleads as he attempts to placate his friend.

'Oh dear! Anderson's cussing!' Hunter grins. Sebastian's eyes flicker and in that moment he is all sharp cunning.

'Yeah, Hunt – Doug's right. Respect Blaine's wishes, OK?' Hunter throws Sebastian a questioning look but Sebastian's attention is entirely on Blaine. Blaine feels like a novice snake charmer. 'So, Blaine – when do you think you'll be up for a night out then? Now that we have established _why_ you and the Mr. are keeping things tight – you can tell us why you're busy all the time, yeah? It's not like you're new beau is a control freak like the last one or anything, right? This one trusts you with your best friends?'

'Of course he trusts me.'

'Exactly – so you can come out with us on Friday night, yeah?' Sebastian takes a sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving Blaine's.

'Bas – I've been busy with school work and composing arrangements for Regionals. You know that. It's not like I've been abandoning you on purpose. I'm sure you, Hunter and Doug are perfectly capable of having a good time without me.' Blaine holds Sebastian's eyes as he takes a sip. It feels like a gun fight.

'Sure – but you've got the whole weekend to do your assignments, right?'

'What's happening on Friday, Bas?'

'I was thinking we could let loose a little? Have some fun. You deserve a break, Blaine – you've been working too hard.'

Hunter and Doug both seem to hold their breath throughout their friends' exchange and a part of him finds the entire situation amusing. Blaine forces himself to smile.

'It's sweet that you care.' He takes another sip of his coffee – letting his three companions lean forward subconsciously in anticipation. Blaine takes a breath, sighs gently, and then unleashes his wildcard. 'Friday I'm not available though. Perhaps the week after? You see – my boyfriend's visiting and we haven't seen each other since Valentine's day so we have a _lot_ of catching up to do…' He lets the sentence hang as he takes another sip of bitter-sweet coffee.

Hunter's eyes widen, and he cannot quite see Doug's expression as he is to his left, but Sebastian's expression does not waiver.

'Bring him.'

'Not really his thing.'

'How'd you know?'

'I just know.'

'Going anywhere nice?'

'Bas – if I tell you you'll devise some reason to swing by and spy on me. Let me save you the trouble – no it's not Kurt (Kurt's not talking to me still), and no – I'm not going anywhere in town with him, so give up now. OK?'

'I was only going to suggest this lovely French place my parents took me to a week or so ago, Blaine. No need to get so defensive.'

'Sure, OK. Thanks, but I think I'll let my boyfriend choose.'

Hunter glances at Sebastian and then at Doug as silence descends on the group.

Doug breaks the silence. 'Well – that was…intense.' Hunter snorts laughter and Blaine smiles slightly though his gaze is still firmly locked on Sebastian's and remains there as Doug and Hunter descend into talk of next week's big game. They finish their coffees and stand to head back to Dalton for their afternoon classes, but both Blaine and Sebastian hang back letting Doug and Hunter walk ahead.

'What's this all about, Bas?'

'I'm just concerned.'

'That's touching.'

Sebastian frowns.

'Blaine – look, I _care_ OK? I know I sometimes have a funny way of showing it but we're friends right?'

Blaine nods his affirmation and Sebastian's eyes soften a little.

'I just… I saw what loosing Kurt did to you, and I saw what his rejection over Christmas did. I'm worried about you – secrets and withdrawing are not healthy, Blaine. And they are certainly not _you._ You don't have to _hide_ things from me. I thought we were past the whole mistrust thing. You were the only reason I'm still a Warbler after the slushie incident and the whole thing with that Karofski guy… I know we got off on the wrong foot, and things have been strained in the past but I thought we were past that –'

'We are.'

'Then why are you hiding this from me? You're carrying this huge weight, Blaine – you're Captain of the Warblers and you're top of all your classes and you're always so perfectly put together – but I see how much it costs you. Share some of it with me. Let me in. Let me be your friend.'

Sebastian's hand brushes his own and he's not certain when they stopped walking but there is something in Sebastian's eyes that seems to be honestly searching for something from Blaine. He feels overwhelmingly lost for a moment as the reality that he had been all words and superficial actions – playing at being friends but keeping everyone at a distance – hits him. He feels short of breath and so tired. He is so very tired of always being strong for everyone else and he has not really shared anything with anyone since Kurt. This pressure has been building behind his eyes and he had not really noticed – but Sebastian had.

He closes his eyes, unable to maintain contact with Sebastian for a moment. He needs to think. The precipice is right there and he can feel the wind on his cheeks – he could take Sebastian's hand, after everything, and prove to everyone that he truly does trust him, does forgive him…or he can take the leap and continue alone. He opens his eyes.

'I do trust you, Bas. Please don't ever think that I don't.' The words are half-whispered, like a sigh, and he feels as if he may blow away at any moment. Sebastian's hand in his grounds him. 'Doug cannot know. Hunter cannot know.'

Sebastian nods his consent.

'I've been dating Douglas Chambers since February, but we kind of had a thing before – when I stayed with him between Christmas and New Year…' The weight does not lift miraculously, it stays sitting firmly on his chest, and he holds his breath as he watches his friend's face for any sign of shock or disgust. Sebastian's eyebrows raise a little but he maintains his physical tether to Blaine.

'I figured.'

The anti-climax is like laughing gas to Blaine.

'What?' Sebastian seems more disturbed by Blaine's reaction than by Blaine's confession and for some reason it makes Blaine laugh harder. Tears stream down his face and his breath comes in hiccups so loud both Hunter and Doug turn to look back but Sebastian waves them onwards. 'Don't make me slap you.'

Blaine takes a couple of deep breaths, and a couple of mini-explosions of recursive laughter later, he manages to calm himself down.

'Sorry.'

'Why do you always do that?'

'Do what?'

'Apologise for _everything_?' Sebastian looks genuinely puzzled and it sobers Blaine.

'I don't know. I guess…I feel responsible?'

'You're not you know.'

'It doesn't feel like I'm not.'

'Tell me about it.'

'I'm not sure I can put it in to words. I just feel like I _should_. Like everyone expects me to _be_.'

Sebastian pats him on the shoulder.

'Come on – tell me about this man of yours. I want _all_ the gossip, Blaine. You've been holding out on me.'

'Thanks, Bas.'

'What for?'

'Knowing me.'

'Come on – quit changing the subject. You're banging Doug's uncle. An older man, Blaine. I want details!'

'It's not like that…'

'You've not….?'

'No.'

'Oh.'

'Yeah. It's not that I don't want to…or that he doesn't want to – at least he seems like he does. We just…he's well respected, and…'

'Wants you to keep quiet, yeah?'

'No. It's not like that. We want to be _sure_ before it gets really serious, you know?'

Sebastian frowns a little.

'He must be an amazing pull, Blaine. That's all I'm going to say.'

Blaine gives his friend a gentle punch to his bicep and rolls his eyes.

'He is...'

'I knew it!'

Heat sweeps across Blaine's cheeks and Sebastien laughs.

'I won't tell a soul.'

'I know.'

'I still want details. And we need to get you a plan.'

'A plan?'

'Of seduction. If he's visiting you on the sly this weekend then he must be getting as horny as you are so it shouldn't take much…'

'Bas! We're taking it slow.'

'Bloody hell. I thought it was Hummel that would have been the prude in that bizarre relationship the two of you had. He always seemed like the innocent one but I suspected he was this hugely controlling and kinky power-bottom beneath it all. You did actually _do it_ right? I mean you're not a virgin _still_?'

Blaine rolls his eyes and frowns slightly.

'Fine, fine. Take it slow. Slow can be sexy. There's no harm in winding him up – in making him want you. Drive him crazy…'

'I pity your future boyfriends you devious creature.'

'Words wound, Blaine.'

'Believe me I know. Come on – Hunt and Doug probably think _you're_ my secret lover now!'

'In your dirty dreams, Killer!'

* * *

Sebastian kept shooting Blaine looks throughout Friday and as the final lesson drew nearer the looks grew more and more suggestive. Blaine rolled his eyes at his friend. It had make him feel like a terrible person but he had been mildly surprised that Sebastian had kept his word and had held Blaine's secret as if it were his own. Blaine had finally succumbed and bought a new cell phone and the two had spent most evenings (until 10pm at least) casually chatting or texting. It felt oddly freeing to have someone to talk to about _anything_ again. Even if that someone did spend a disproportionate amount of time teasing Blaine, he knew that, deep down; it was just how Sebastian showed he cared. At least, that's what Blaine told himself.

By the time Blaine pulled up at the airport he was a jittery mess of frayed nerves, shaking limbs and writhing guts. He had not been able to bring himself to eat and had found himself keeping Doug at a distance after he had found himself casually staring a little too long into his friend's eyes (so similar and simultaneously different to Douglas') while his friends ate their lunch. Fortunately, Doug had not called him out on it though he had received a lewd text message from Sebastian about it later.

As it turned out, nothing beats physical kisses, and as he drove Douglas to the hotel where he would be staying, Blaine could not stop himself from smiling. Somehow he managed to get to their destination using only one hand (the other was entangled in Douglas') and his mind was definitely out of action as it had headed south the second Douglas' lips had touched his own.

'I missed you, Blaine.'

'I missed you.' His voice was breathy but Douglas did not pass comment or tease him – Blaine realised he had been spending a little too much time with Sebastian. Instead the older man had simply smiled and kissed him again erasing Blaine's frown and thoughts with absolute and unconscious ease.

The lobby, elevator and corridors to Douglas' rooms were a blur to Blaine, and for a fleeting moment, he felt concern that he had no real idea where he had parked his car so distracted were his thoughts. His concern however, left as quickly as it had appeared when he found himself finally alone with Douglas. Instead he allowed himself to ogle his boyfriend as he efficiently unpacked his weekend bag, though Blaine mentally kicked himself for not noting what Douglas had bought with him as it would have suggested to Blaine, at least in part, what the other man had planned for their mini-break. It had been surprisingly easy for Blaine to get the weekend off (so to speak) – his parents actually seemed glad that their son was showing an interest in a social life again and so had not pushed him for any details. So he was absolutely and unashamedly _Douglas'_ for the entire weekend - the thought sent a little shiver down his spine and made something low in his belly flip. He felt his eyes drift over the curve of Douglas' broad shoulders, down to his narrow hips and over his gorgeous ass. Blaine's breath quickened as Douglas bent to put the empty Globetrotter bag into the bottom of the wardrobe. He quickly glanced away and realised that he should, perhaps, put his own things away before Douglas noticed he had been staring. He felt his cheeks darken as he quickly gathered up his bag and opened it, hurriedly sorting shirts and trousers onto hangers, and jumpers, underthings, and bowties into drawers.

The suite Douglas had booked them had one bedroom but two Queen-sized beds separated by a small dresser. They had not discussed sleeping arrangements and the thought had not occurred to Blaine until they had entered the room. The disappointment that lingered even now had surprised him with its sudden intensity, but he was soon distracted by the feeling of strong hands on his hips. Blaine smiled as he felt Douglas turn him to face him.

'What was that for?'

'You have absolutely no idea what you do to me, do you?'

The darkness in Douglas' eyes makes his gut do the little flip thing again and he finds himself licking his lips then catching his bottom lip with his teeth. He swears he hears Douglas growl before he claims Blaine's lips with his own, but he is not completely certain with their bodies pressed close and his legs trapped between Douglas' and the bed.

'I'm sorry.'

Blaine manages to frown slightly at the sudden loss of Douglas' lips as the other man rests his forehead in the junction between Blaine's shoulder and neck. He feels the hot puff of his boyfriend's breath against his skin and it takes him a moment to recall that Douglas had spoken.

'Why?'

He feels Douglas smile against him.

'I don't want to push you.'

'You aren't.'

He must have said the right thing because Douglas' lips stop talking and start a deliciously slow meander along his neck and jawline. Blaine manages to stop himself from practically rutting against Douglas' leg by sheer force of will alone. He tests the water by nimbly untucking Douglas' shirt and dipping his fingers underneath to connect with skin in encouragement. He must have done the right thing because it is as if the barrier between them suddenly drops and Douglas' hands mimic Blaine's finding their way to soft delicious skin. He turns his head to catch Douglas' lips with his own and teasingly sucks on the older man's lower lip as he lets one hand dip lower, slipping cool fingers beneath elastic, cotton, wool and leather. He feels Douglas press closer to him – his warmth is solid reassurance and Blaine takes it as permission to slide his other hand between them so that he can tug lightly at Douglas' shirt and work one-handed on unbuttoning it. One of Douglas' hands numbly unties Blaine's school tie as the other makes short work from the bottom up of his shirt buttons. Knuckles brush his abdomen as they work and Blaine moans softly at the contact. Something about the way Douglas deliberately holds Blaine's tie for a moment before finally pulling it free from his collar makes Blaine freeze for a moment, but it passes and leaves in its wake a desperation and Blaine makes short work of the rest of Douglas' shirt. He lets it drop to the floor and allows himself to briefly take in the vision of Douglas, topless, before him. He makes Blaine's mouth water – so dissimilar to everything Blaine had been so familiar with; all adult definition instead of youthful promise.

Lightly tanned skin pulls taught over faintly defined muscle as Douglas breathes and Blaine finds himself dragging one hand from the other man's sternum down through the dusting of coarse, dark hair, brushing an impossibly tiny pebbled nipple with his little finger as he works his way down. He is on his knees before he is aware he had moved – he had been too engaged in the sensation of skin and hair and muscle. He places his hands gently on Douglas' hips – to steady himself and to keep Douglas from moving, and places a gentle, tentative kiss just below the other man's belly button. He feels more than hears Douglas' slight gasp at the sensation, and allows himself to slowly trail light kisses down to the junction of wool, metal, leather and skin. He feels Douglas tense as he continues downwards, his hands following the exquisite dip of hip and buttock before firm thigh, until he finds himself mouthing lightly at the pronounced hardness there. He stops briefly, his nose and mouth mere centimetres away from Douglas and looks up – overcome with the sudden need for both reassurance and to reassure.

There is a moment – it is fleeting and it simultaneously stabs him and freezes him – when he expects to see sweet blue eyes and not the meltingly dark chocolate pools that meet his own. He almost falls backwards, away. He almost bolts. But Douglas' eyes are so calming and so painfully earnest (and for some reason slightly scared) that Blaine finds himself smiling reassuringly as one hand gently traces the other man's belt buckle. Douglas seems so breathtakingly vulnerable in that moment that Blaine forgets to breathe and when he takes the hesitant blink as permission, his lungs ache from lack of air as he makes short work of the leather belt. He slips a finger teasingly beneath the band of Douglas' trousers, letting his finger pad brush the hidden hair and skin, and making Douglas gasp again. His fingers are sure as they gently unhook and unbutton and unzip – lending Blaine a confidence that makes him feel like his performing. He lets Douglas' trousers fall and lets his hands run back up the other man's calves and muscular thighs. He fingers the hem of Douglas' boxers where they meet his skin briefly, then slips his fingers between material and flesh, lightly tracing the line between muscled buttock and thigh. He lets his fingers tease the crease between the other man's cheeks before squeezing them and mouthing Douglas' cock through the cotton.

'God, Blaine.'

The praise sends a thrill through him and he sucks lightly at the head as he dips the fingers of one hand down to ghost the sensitive area between hole and balls.

'Please.'

The gasp-whine is exquisitely _new_ and Blaine yearns to map each inch of delicious salt-sweet skin, to learn which areas make Douglas moan and clench, and which reduce him to jelly. He sucks and kisses and gently drags with his teeth, one hand squeezing a muscled globe, the other tantalisingly tracing lines between balls and hole, until a desperate, keening,

'Please!'

and he finally rolls down the final barrier to all that delicious, unclaimed skin.

He does not compare - it does not occur to him for the exercise would be pointless. This is a different game entirely and Douglas is a different species – all _adult_ – thick muscle and hair not the limber softness of youth. There is no promise of definition or suggestion of structure – Douglas is a masterpiece and utterly complete.

Blaine closes his eyes as his hands map unchartered and unbound skin. He trails kisses from hip bones down to the crease between groin and leg taking in the smell of Douglas where it is strongest and unimpeded by cologne. He mouths at one tight ball as he squeezes his hands against the toned flesh behind and is rewarded by a delicious groan. He explores with his mouth and tongue until he can feel the sweat building as fiery skin meets the cool air of the room. He feels the light tremble of Douglas's knees and he feels a tentative hand grasp his shoulder for support. Blaine teases with his teeth, dragging them up the thick veined shaft then rolls back Douglas' foreskin gently with one hand – releasing the pressure that is building and echoed in Blaine. Precum beads at the head as his hand pumps once, twice. He licks his lips then laps at the slit before sliding his lips around the head, swirling with his tongue and dragging across the rim. Douglas gasps and Blaine hums gently around the other man's cock as he slides down to take more of him in. He feels fingers grasp at the few curls that have broken free of the gel with his sweat and he swirls his tongue again as he makes his way back up to the head. He pulls off with an obscene noise before taking the glistening head back into his mouth. He tastes precum – salty and distinctly _Douglas_, as he resumes tracing the corona with his tongue. He trails a finger down between cheeks to perineum and feels Douglas tense then groan as the pad drags deliciously over a sensitive area. Blaine hums again as he sinks back down around Douglas relaxing his throat as much as he can as Douglas' fingers grip the back of his neck lightly. He takes pity and lets a rhythm build until he feels Douglas' buttocks clench and his perineum spasm. Douglas is silent as he comes, taking Blaine a little by surprise. There is more than he expected but he manages not to gag, swallowing around Douglas as he manages to continue to work him through his orgasm with his mouth, gently cleaning him off as much as he can before the other man gets too sensitive. He does not realise he is trembling until Douglas' strong arms are helping him up from the floor.

It should be awkward - they were supposed to be taking things slowly – and it is for a moment. Douglas kisses Blaine then – all unbridled passion and Blaine is dimly aware that Douglas must be able to taste himself. Kurt had always insisted they drink water (and ideally brush their teeth _and _gargle with mouthwash) before kissing after giving a blowjob; so that too takes Blaine by surprise. As do the mumbled sentiments that Douglas murmurs between kisses. Blaine is achingly hard – his trousers tight and uncomfortable after being compressed when kneeling, and it is almost painful when Douglas palms him through the layers of underwear and grey wool. All trace of his earlier hesitation has gone and Blaine finds himself utterly grateful when large hands finally release him without teasing or ceremony. Douglas kisses him, sure and steady and deliciously slowly from his lips, down the straining chords of his neck, past the dip of clavicle and over the sensitive bud of nipple. Over each bump-dip of rib and muscle, to the suggestion of the V that will develop between hip and abdomen, glancing over the stubborn remainder of hairless puppy-fat beneath his belly button and down to the still-soft hair of his public region. Strong hands grip his thighs and he finds himself hoisted onto the edge of the bed, his trousers and underwear a tangled mess around his ankles – dimly he kicks his feet free as Douglas begins to kiss him. The soft-wet-heat of Douglas' mouth is glorious and Blaine feels his balls contract up. His hole flutters as the delicious draw of the other man's mouth quickly brings him to the brink and spectacularly over. He comes hard – the product of youth, a long build-up, and a week of abstaining – panting and flopping backwards onto the firm mattress beneath him. He is dimly aware of Douglas kissing him before he hears him get up and leave the room. Blaine waits for his eyes to regain focus and stares at the ceiling as slowly the suddenness of the turn in their relationship strikes him.

Douglas returns with a damp cloth and gently cleans him and Blaine feels somewhere between mortification and adoration at the tenderness of the gesture. Wordlessly Douglas takes his hand and helps him up, leading him towards the shower.

* * *

He has always paced while on the phone. It is a habit that had driven his mother mad when he had been a boy as it had resulted in a tangled phone cord - she had been adamant that he had significantly reduced the life of the carpet in the hallway. Now there are no cables he has full reign of his substantial apartment, but he still finds himself bound by the invisible ghost of the old cord.

'I'm sorry, Rog. I just don't have anyone else to talk to.'

'That bad?'

Douglas groans and Roger huffs a little laugh which sounds like a small explosion in his ear – he can almost feel the warmth of his brother's breath as the air from the speaker buffets his ear.

'Come on, big brother. Talk to me.'

'God, Rog, I… I think I'm in love – or almost there.'

'That's…that's good.'

'Is it? This should feel wrong, Rog. It's so wrong. He's a teenager! But there's something about him – since the first moment I saw him. God – I sound like one of those fools on the telly – but he makes me _feel_. It's not like with Paul, or Mark, or even like what I had with Adrian. It's deeper somehow.'

'Have you talked to him about how you feel?'

'No. I…I don't want to scare him off.'

'You've really fallen hard for this kid haven't you? You have to be straight with him here. You owe it to him to be honest. If you're going to have a relationship you need to be completely honest with each other because it's going to be hell for you both.'

'I know. I…Part of me wants to protect him from that.'

'That's not up to you.'

'I know.'

There is a muffled sigh and Douglas pictures his brother running a hand over his face.

'Oh, Diggsie. I knew one day you'd find the right guy for you – I just hoped it'd be sooner and that he'd be older...'

'Don't, Rog.'

'Look, talk to him. OK? Just make sure he's as invested in this as you are and let me handle Pops, alright?'

Douglas feels a little freer momentarily and takes a small breath.

'Thank you.' The words are never enough.

'Don't thank me yet. Hell, Diggsie, I wish that things were easier.'

'What? Like I was straight? It would be just as taboo if he were a teenage girl, Rog, and you know it. Don't make this about my sexuality – I can't take that from you. Not when I know what's heading my way from the rest of the family.'

'I didn't mean _that_ and you know it. I just meant – things are finally starting to turn around what with Prop 8 being overturned and Don't Ask, Don't Tell… Things are looking up, Diggsie, but I wish… I just wish everyone was treated equal, you know? I wish it wasn't even a blip on the radar when it comes to history. I think about all you've had to overcome to get where you are and… I'm terrified for you. I don't want to see you have to fight any more to be happy. I don't want to see you hurt.'

'I told you you would have made a great politician.'

'I love you too.'

He listens to his brother's breath as it evens back out, pacing, unseeing around the hall and kitchen – a pre-defined track like a trench.

'So. Who's taking to his parents and who's telling Doug?'


	15. Chapter 15

**Spiral**

* * *

His feet are chained to a block of concrete and he is dragged down, down, down so fast his vision blurs. His lungs are paralysed, unable to function and his eyes burn. Santana is frantic, pacing backwards and forwards, one hand clutching the phone, the other gesticulating wildly. His guts are churning ice and the roaring noise in his ears is deafening so Kurt does not hear a word she says, just watches blindly. He does not know how long it takes, but eventually his lungs seemingly remember to function and the air stings, with it his body spasms into action. He has one thought and the sharpness of it leaves him with no choice – he fumbles for his cell phone and dials before he has processed his own actions.

_No answer_

He does not allow himself the opportunity to over-think his actions – he is overcome with the need to _know_ that Blaine is safe. He types frantically and sends the message,

**Are you OK? – K x**

all the while, staring intently at the screen, waiting. He's terrified to look away – as if that may be the difference between Blaine being alive or shot or wounded or alone or hurt or bleeding or…dead.

It had been reflex. That is what he tells Santana later, but the look she shoots him makes him feel utterly transparent and confuses him further. Now though, he does not think, he just needs to know that _he_ is alright.

**Heard about the shooting… Please let me know you're OK. – K x**

_0 New Messages_ stares back at him, mocking.

Santana has to physically shake his shoulder to get his attention - he had not even noticed that she had ended the phone call with Brittany.

'He doesn't even go there anymore. Anyways – Brit says it is over now. Everyone's fine.' Her voice is hard but he catches the concern as she settles next to him on the sofa and switches on the television.

The relief that washes over him makes him feel giddy as he realises that Santana is right: Blaine is fine – he transferred back to Dalton and the shooting was at McKinley. He realises dimly that his heart is pounding and his hands are shaking, and the knowledge is simultaneously terrifying and confusing. His mind flickers back to when they had been snowed-in: Adam, Santana, Rachel and himself. In theory it should have been exciting and perfect – spending time with his boyfriend and best friends watching one of his all-time favourites, "Moulin Rouge". The reality had been awkward (Santana and Rachel's continuing argument about Rachel's possibly-a-drug-dealer-boyfriend, Brody, non-withstanding) and he had found himself struggling to separate _Blaine_ from the film. "Come What May" had moved him to tears and he had been beyond confused and frustrated because he was still so _angry_. Blaine had ruined everything – they had been perfect, and now Kurt had Adam; but that was the problem – he was _trying_ to move on. After Mr. Schuester's wedding-that-wasn't, Kurt and Adam had talked and decided to take it slowly, and agreed that they both wanted to take things to the next logical stage, but every time the opportunity arose Kurt found himself making excuses. He could understand Adam's growing frustration and confusion but Kurt just did not feel right. Nothing felt _right -_ not anymore.

The inane chatter on the television and Santana's suggestive staring eventually got to him so he made his way to the relative privacy of his "room" knowing that Santana would force the truth out of him later anyway, he figured he should probably work out what that actually was. His head was pounding and he found himself obsessively checking his phone as he busied himself, mindlessly rearranging his collection of jackets. Reasons for _why_ Blaine was not responding to his text messages flooded his mind:

_Blaine could be ill, or hurt, or unable to reply. Or he's ignoring the messages because he's mad at me? Maybe he just changed his number, or perhaps he is just really busy and missed the call and the messages. He probably has no signal, or someone could have deleted the messages before he's had a chance to read them. He could be dead - No._

Kurt hung his head and carefully dropped his phone onto his bed to prevent himself from hurling it across the room, then flopped, facedown, beside it. Adam was right, Kurt knew he was – Kurt needed to move on, he needed to get closure and to do that he needed to talk to Blaine. Yes, Blaine had visited at Christmas, and yes, Kurt had not handled it well – but he had _just_ found out his father had cancer! Over two months on and he knows now that his father, and Blaine, had only been acting in what they had believed to be Kurt's interest, and the fact that Blaine had agreed to visit had been his way of trying to be Kurt's _friend_. He knew that now. But it did not change anything – Kurt was still angry and hurt, but he was getting less and less sure who he was angry at anymore. Truthfully, he missed Blaine – not talking to him was like having an organ removed that, yes - he could live without, but not having it left a void that he was unable to fill. It had settled, an incessant _ache_, and Kurt had _tried_ to fill the gap. He had met Adam. Adam who was handsome, and clever, and made Kurt laugh, but they were not _friends_. Not like Blaine had been.

_No, not like Blaine._

Kurt sighed and rolled onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. He chewed his bottom lip as he tried to sort through the mess of tangled thoughts – unravelling and untwisting the threads of _Blaine_ and _Adam_ and trying to look at the whole mess objectively. He furrowed his brow then reached under his bed for the trunk he had thrown everything in on one of the worse days after Blaine's admission. It was supposed to have been cathartic; however, instead it was Kurt's very own tell-tale heart.

He stops himself before he opens the trunk – a moment of clarity and he no longer needs to reminisce – he knows what he has to do and _why_ he still has the trunk's contents.

The urge to _talk_ to Blaine in person and not on the phone, is overwhelming. Kurt rolls back onto his back and closes his eyes, and taking a calming breath, he sees golden irises in their perfect frame of long, sooty lashes. Yes. He will talk to Blaine and then he will know what he needs to do. At least, he hopes he will.

Kurt reaches for his laptop and checks the dates of his flight – he is due to be in Lima for a week to be there for his father's oncologist appointment – perhaps it would be wise to bundle the pain together? He runs the dates over in his head then does a quick Google search to find that they should coincide with Regionals, and the Warblers (_Blaine_) would be competing.

He resists the urge to check for new messages and instead focuses on reorganising his sock drawer – it is a little thing that he can control and he needs _something_.

* * *

It changed things – of course it was going to – but he almost thought it would have been less significant – it is not like he has never given or received a blowjob before. A part of him (far larger than he expected) feels guilty which is ridiculous (he _knows_ it is ridiculous) because he did nothing wrong. In fact, he did _everything_ right, multiple times over, that long weekend in the hotel room. It does not change the fact that Blaine could not relax fully after taking that first step. It eats at him, intensifying as the days pass once Douglas' presence reduces to nothing but memory and lingering scent. He pretends it is nerves about the impending Regionals competition or stress over school work. He almost convinces himself.

Douglas is due to visit the week a snow storm grinds New York to a halt – thankfully his flight departed before the first flakes fell and Blaine finds himself buzzing with anticipation as he waits by Arrivals.

They spend the weekend holed up in the suite again, but this time Douglas leads. The other man's hand is warm in his as they sit beside each other – Douglas had been oddly pensive during the drive and it had begun to make Blaine feel uneasy.

'I need to talk to you about something.' Douglas' words are heavy and he catches Blaine's eyes imploringly.

'Oh.' Something in Blaine's gut twists and he tenses but does not look away. Instead he turns to face his partner face-on and waits. They have always been open with each other and Blaine focuses on taking calming breaths, trying to bottle down the rising panic in his throat, and to stop his thoughts spiralling downwards.

'It's nothing bad, Blaine, I promise.' Douglas' eyes are calm and their intertwined fingers ground Blaine. 'How…' Douglas starts but then seems to think better of whatever he had been about to say and instead drops his eyes for a moment.

'Hey, you can talk to me about anything – you know that.' Blaine finds himself pulling Douglas in for a gentle, reassuring kiss, suddenly and utterly calm. The other man's soft _hum_ centres them both and when Blaine smiles, Douglas returns it.

'I… When I moved to New York I thought I would finally be free – it was very naïve of me to think so, I know, but back then… Things are better now, of course they are, but some things…some people…they are the same.' He pauses, his eyes meeting Blaine's and seeming to search them for something before continuing. 'I need to know, Blaine.'

'Know what?'

'How you feel.'

'Let me show you.' Blaine kisses him again, but Douglas pulls back.

'This is not a fairy tale – I'm no prince, and there is no happy ending. Not for people like us.'

'I don't believe that.'

'I know.' Douglas smiles sadly.

'What's this all about?'

'I'm going to China in a week, Blaine. For a month.'

'I know.'

'And…and when I get back I have to present the progress to my father.' Douglas takes a breath and Blaine wants to kiss away all of the stress and fear and anxiety that roll off Douglas like waves. 'I want… I would like…' The older man closes his eyes as if to help him gather his thoughts and Blaine waits patiently, oddly calm. 'Come with me?'

It is so quiet that Blaine almost misses it.

'As your friend or Doug's?'

'As my partner.'

* * *

The Lima Bean is as busy as Kurt has ever seen it – he had dropped by McKinley to see his friends, though the truth is that Burt had kicked him out of the house.

_ 'I'm jittery enough over this as it is without you hoverin' over me like a mother hen. Go out – go see your friends. It'll distract you – do you some good.'_

It had been so _odd_ to wander the halls – the same lockers, same teachers, same classrooms, yet different faces, different posters, different voices. _His_ ghost walks with him, hand-in-hand, whispering

_Courage_

when all others pretended to be blind.

He had found Tina first and had somehow ended up sitting at _their_ usual table with Tina, Artie, Sam, and Brittany half-listening to their stories about _The Shooting_ while he re-arranges scattered sugar packets into perfect little lines. None of them pushed him for more information on _why_ he was back so he had not felt the need to explain – that was one mercy at least. He tries not to dwell on it and attempts to focus on Sam's impassioned tale of how he tried to risk his life to save Brittany when he _feels_ him. His head snaps up and there he is, pristine in Dalton blazer and tie – Blaine.

The world stops. Reduces right down to nothing but _him_. For a moment he can convince himself that it is the beginning again – between Kurt's leaving Dalton to return to McKinley, and Blaine's transfer to be with him after the summer. For a moment he is not alone, and he allows himself to feel that strong flutter of anticipation in his chest that he knows will be followed by the pure _joy_ that will flood his veins when Blaine's dark eyes finally land on his own across the room. But they do not.

Kurt shakes his head slightly to clear it noticing that this Blaine is slightly taller and more defined. This Blaine is with some guys Kurt does not recognise though they are all in Dalton uniform. Then he sees Sebastian and his blood seethes.

He must have pulled a face because Sam is rubbernecking and Kurt does not manage to pull his attention away from the group of lads before Sam spots them. The blonde then does the unimaginable – he waves, and Kurt desperately wants the ground to swallow him. This was not how it was supposed to be. Yes, he wanted to talk to Blaine – he _needs_ to talk to Blaine, but seeing him – he is suddenly painfully aware that he knows nothing about this Blaine, and he needs time to process. He needs time.

His heart races, but thankfully Sam gets up and walks over to the small group as they do not notice him, giving Kurt time to turn so that he is mostly hidden by Tina and Brittany, engaging both girls in discussion as quickly as he can by asking them how they felt during the shooting. It is a low trick, but it works and it is not long before Sam re-joins them. He yearns to ask Sam whether Blaine noticed him, and if he did, why he did not come over to say 'hello'. A small voice in the back of his mind mocks him for being so hypocritical, so he does not ask, and Sam does not offer any information. Kurt resigns himself to sneaking peeks at the table the uniformed boys settle at.

Blaine looks well – he smiles and laughs and is obviously friendly with the other three at his table, and Kurt feels a sudden pang. He swallows painfully and forces himself to try to focus on his own friends at his own table, but he cannot get over the fact that Sebastian is there, sitting right next to Blaine. A roar of laughter surges over from the other table and Kurt glowers. Of course, it is then that Blaine's golden eyes catch his own.

_He always caught me._

_ Until he let me fall._

He has seconds to decide what to do – whether to acknowledge him, or whether to force his attention back to his own table. Naturally, Blaine removes the choice for him by standing and walking over – an action which Kurt simultaneously praises and curses him for.

'Hi.'

His voice is polished honey and though his body language is open to the table, his eyes stay on Kurt's. Kurt feels his pulse in his mouth.

'Blainey-Days!'

It is Tina that envelops Blaine in a fierce hug, effectively breaking the spell on Kurt. Blaine's smile is bright but Kurt notices that it does not reach his eyes – instead they land on the lines of sugar packets in front of Kurt and he raises an eyebrow in question. Kurt shakes his head slightly and is grateful in that instant that Blaine seems to be able to still read him well enough to know when to drop something.

'Ready for Regionals?' Tina manages to seem almost genuine in her interest.

'Of course they are! I hear you're Captain, Blaine?' Artie says as he turns to give their visitor his attention.

Blaine is the epitome of gentlemanly charm, and fields Brittany's left-field questions with ease whilst chatting to Artie, Tina and Sam about the Warblers' upcoming competition and their post-graduation plans. Kurt watches silently, listening. He is half surprised that Sebastian does not come over to join Blaine, but given the circumstances of their last few encounters he surmises that it is probably for the best.

'So, I have to go – but don't be strangers, OK?' Blaine's smile is tight and his eyes flicker to Kurt's again as a scrape of chairs signal that his friends are making ready to leave.

Kurt can almost hear the questioning

_Are you OK?_

in Blaine's thoughts, so Kurt forces himself to smile, adding a cursory

'Good luck.'

as the others give their own "break a leg"s and well-wishes. Then Blaine is gone.

Not long after, Kurt makes his excuses and leaves, overcome with the need to be somewhere peaceful to think. He knows that the others will gossip but he cannot bring himself to care as he sits alone in his car staring blankly out of the windscreen. His eyes sting and he palms them fiercely, putting his sudden wave of emotion down to his worry over his father's results - and it is, at least in part. Kurt huffs out an unsteady breath as he tries to calm himself down – it was not supposed to be like that. Kurt had spent _days_ planning how his talk with Blaine would go and _this_ was not it. His jaw aches where he had clenched it and he rubs at it angrily then forces himself to close his eyes and relax – emptying his mind. It allows him the ability to analyse without emotion. It allows him to distance himself; to throw his walls back up. He knows, objectively, that they need to talk, and he feels that Blaine knows that too – from the looks he gave him at the café.

_Good_.

He received no reply to his previous text messages but he sends another one now.

**We need to talk. After Regionals. I'll meet you after you win. – K **

Switching off his phone he starts the car's engine and makes his way back to his father's house – he is not sure when he stopped thinking of it as home. He may not be able to control the results his father will receive tomorrow, but there is one thing he can – his over-due talk with Blaine.

He runs topics of discussion over in his head as he drives, continually reminding himself that they were both in the wrong – yes, Blaine cheated, but they never really talked about _why_ and Kurt _needs_ to know. He needs to know how everything went so wrong. He needs to know so that he can move on - so that he can get over Blaine. The thing that terrifies him though, that nibbles away at him when he cannot sleep at night, the thing that was so easy to deny or ignore until he was confronted with the man himself, is that he is not sure he can get over him. He's not sure he wants to.

* * *

They win. Of course they win. He had never doubted that they would. Kurt paces near the backstage entrance, waiting. He feels strangely calm after receiving the good news about his father's remission – a weight has been lifted and he feels able to breathe again, to concentrate. He had received no reply from Blaine to his message and the fact had concerned him – if Blaine wanted nothing to do with him he could have easily ignored him at the Lima Bean. The previous evening Kurt had finally broken down and talked to his dad about everything – his fear of losing his father (his _world_), about losing Blaine (his _forever_), and about Adam.

_'I was wonderin' when you were going to talk to me. You've been bottled up tight and it's not healthy, but I know there's no point in pushin' – you talk when you're ready.'_

They had talked for hours and Kurt had felt _lighter_ now than he had in months. His dad had had just listened while he poured his heart out and when Kurt had finally finished, raw and exhausted, Burt had held him.

_'I just feel so lost, Dad. Seeing him…it hurt. Why does it still hurt? When does it stop hurting?'_

_'You still love him.'_

_'I'm with Adam.'_

_'Yeah, but you don't love Adam. I know you, Kurt. When you love - you love with everything you got. Look, I love you, Kurt, but I can't tell you how to live your life. Yes – Blaine messed up, but you never really talked about it. Talk to him - see what he has to say. It doesn't mean you have to get back together – you probably shouldn't rush back into anything anyway, but he was your friend first right? Talk to him.'_

The sound of the door opening dragged Kurt from his thoughts and he was greeted by a swarm of Dalton uniforms, some – Nick, Jeff and a couple of others he recognised – he congratulated as they passed and they exchanged a quick flurry of greetings. The energy flowing from the group was infectious and Kurt found himself almost physically jittering as he scanned for familiar slicked dark hair.

'Have you seen Blaine?'

'He should be out in a moment – I think he and Hunter went to put the trophy in the bus.' Trent provided helpfully.

Kurt thanked him and was about to offer his congratulations when someone led him firmly to the side by the elbow.

'Why are you here?'

Green eyes bored into his own as Kurt prised Sebastian's hand from his arm.

'I'm not wholly sure how that's your business, but I'm here to congratulate a friend.'

'What if he doesn't want your congratulations?'

'Then he can tell me himself.'

'Is everything OK?' Trent's concern was palpable and his eyes flitted nervously between the two men.

'Fine, Trent. Just catching up with Hummel here.' Sebastian is all smiles and, though he does not look convinced, Trent retreats when Kurt affirms Sebastian's statement with a small nod.

'What's your play here?' Sebastian's voice is low and Kurt cannot help but laugh.

'Please do tell me what exactly this has to do with you.'

'Don't you think you've hurt him enough?'

'Hurt him?!'

'Get over yourself, Kurt. You know it wasn't all on him.'

'And I suppose you're the expert on my and Blaine's relationship now?'

'What relationship?'

'We're friends.'

'Yeah. Friends. Good one. Friends don't abandon friends in a city they don't know with nowhere to stay!'

'I'm not defending myself to you.'

'Look, he's just starting to be himself again. Leave it be.'

'When did you become so concerned about Blaine? You almost blinded him!'

'I'm a better friend to him than you have ever been!'

'Yeah, that's all you ever wanted to be - his friend! Pull the other one!'

Sebastian clamps his jaw shut and Kurt can see the muscles twitch under the surface. They are both panting and it dawns on him that everyone is watching them. Sebastian takes a breath then catches Kurt's eyes.

'Please, Kurt, believe me when I say that I truly want what is best for Blaine.'

'He is perfectly capable of deciding what that is.'

'But he's not. Not when it comes to you. When it comes to you, Kurt, he can't think straight. He's been a mess - I am not exaggerating - ask any of them. What do you want from him, and don't say you want to be friends because you'll never be "just friends".'

Kurt feels unbalanced.

'I… I don't know. I just know I need to talk to him.'

'Why? What good will it do?'

'I don't know – but I need to.'

'For you, right? What about what Blaine needs?' Sebastian drops his eyes slightly and sighs. 'Look - he's finally moving on – he's in a relationship and I think it'll be really good for him. Let him go, Kurt. Let him be happy. Move on.'

His eyes sting and he forces himself to look away but when he looks back Sebastian is gone.

'He's right you know.' Trent's voice is soft and so sympathetic that Kurt wants to bludgeon him in that instant.

'He was really that bad?'

'He came back to us.'

'And he's happy now?'

The other boy does not get a chance to respond.

'Kurt?'

* * *

**A/N: **As always, thank you for your kudos/likes, comments, follows, and feedback. When I started writing this fic I was nervous because usually age-difference fics with OCs don't go down well so I was nervous about how you guys would find Douglas. I was so thrilled to hear your opinions of him (and your suggestions for Blaine and Douglas' _ship_ name!).

I truly love each of you - this is _for _you. 3


	16. Chapter 16

**Fade Out**

* * *

To say Burt was confused was an understatement – it was times like this when he wanted nothing more than an ice-cold beer. He huffed a sigh and, removing his baseball cap, ran his hands over his face and head, before replacing the cap. All he had been able to get out of Kurt before his son had grabbed his bags and headed for the airport was that the tall youth could not stay in Lima and needed to get back home. Home. The word had sliced into Burt deeper than he thought possible – he knew one day that his baby boy would make his own home somewhere apart from him, hell, he had encouraged Kurt to do just that – but hearing it said out loud… It hurt – he was not sure whether it was a good pain or bad pain. Probably both. He knew a lot about how pain could be both.

He'd tried to get some sense out of his son – something had obviously gone wrong again. Something was causing Kurt pain, and Burt felt like a failure as a father. He had felt so small and powerless – unable to protect his family – when first Lizzie died, then when he had a heart attack, then prostate cancer, and now… Now Kurt was hurting again and there was nothing he could do. Burt never wanted Kurt to feel like his family house was no longer home. Burt never wanted to watch Kurt suffer.

A sharp knock at the door caught Burt unaware and he forced himself up to his feet. He half-expected he knew who would be on the other side and, though he could not explain _why_, he suddenly was furious.

'He's not here, Anderson.'

The young man, usually so put-together, looked out of breath – almost as if he had been running; hair dishevelled, blazer missing, shirt untucked, tie skewwhiff.

'I need to talk to him – do you know where he went?'

'Home.'

The confusion on Blaine's face was palpable and for a moment Burt felt sorry for the kid.

'Look, Blaine, I don't know what to tell you – he came in here, started packing, refused to talk then left. What in the hell happened?'

'I have no idea! All I know is that he saw me and fled. I chased after him as soon as I could.'

'Well he's gone.' Burt took a step backwards and, leaving the door open, made his way back to the couch. He felt rather than heard the younger man follow, closing the door behind him.

They sat for a while in silence – each taking in what the other had said, seemingly as confused as each other.

'He didn't talk to you then?'

'No…um…I saw him the other day in the Lima Bean, but our friends were there and he didn't seem like he wanted to talk then… Then today he just saw me and bolted…'

The sentence hangs in the air and Burt shakes his head. The steady whirr-chug-whirr of the washing machine increasing speed punctuates the air and both men seem at a loss, until Blaine seems to make up his mind and stands.

'Where're you goin'?'

'To New York.'

'Look, Blaine – sit down a minute?'

Burt waits until the dark haired youth complies then turns so he can watch Blaine's reaction to what he feels, as a father, he needs to say.

'Blaine…' Burt takes a breath and smiles sadly. 'I think you both need to leave each other be for a while –'

Blaine makes to interject but Burt puts up a hand.

'Listen? OK? For a while back then – over Christmas – I felt really bad about that. I couldn't believe that my son, my sweet little boy, could act like that. But I've had time to think and I see where he was comin' from, and I know you do too.' He pauses and catches Blaine's eyes for a moment before continuing. 'I don't know all the details, but I know that Kurt's happy in New York – he's got his Vogue job and his school, and Adam.' Burt does not miss the tightening of Blaine's mouth at his mention of Kurt's boyfriend and feels for the young man. 'I know.' He places a hand on Blaine's shoulder. 'Last night emotions were running pretty high – I got my results and –' Burt notices Blaine's sudden concern and smiles slightly, 'Relax, kid. I'm stronger than that – I'm in remission so quit your worrying. What was I sayin'?'

'About last night…'

'Yeah. So emotions were pretty high and it's been a pretty emotional year so far. Kurt; he said some stuff that's made me think. I know you love him, Blaine, and he loves you, but you're both in relationships with other people now. And I don't think you, either of you, actually worked through what happened yet. It's not fair. It's not fair on either of you and it's not fair on who you're with now.' Burt shakes his head slightly. 'You know – I really thought you two were it for each other – that day you came to see me in the garage and asked me to give Kurt _the talk_…that was the day I knew, I think. But things never work out like you think they will, and I gotta tell you, Blaine – I'm disappointed in you both.'

Blaine frowns slightly then, and Burt removes his hand from the lad's shoulder.

'Now, I'm going to have to do the Dad thing – I don't want to have to do this, but Blaine, it kills me to see my boy hurting like this. I think…I think you need to let him come to you. I know you, kid, you're already planning on going to him and making some huge, dramatic scene… Leave it be. Trust me on this one. Leave him be.'

Burt studies the face of the man across from him – Blaine looks so much better than he had over Christmas – stronger now somehow, and Burt sighs.

'Are you happy, Blaine?'

'I'm not sure how to answer that.'

'I know, kid. That's what I mean though – you need to work out what makes you happy, then you need to do everything you can to keep it in your life. Sometimes it's taken away from us and there's nothing we can do…'

Outside the rain falls as the men sit in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Eventually Blaine shifts.

'Thank you.'

'Take care of yourself, Anderson.'

'You too, sir.'

Burt stares out of the window, hearing the youth leave but not watching. Soon, Carole will be home and he will have to try to explain why Kurt left early, until then he sits and waits, loosing himself in replays where he can _do_ something to protect his son from pain and cruelty and confusion. He knows it is futile, but in the end, it is all he really has.

* * *

China is a paradox for him, but he is far too wrapped up in meetings and site visits and paperwork to have much time to actually take in the fact that this is the first time he has been away from American soil in over 15 years. He feels rushed, overwhelmed, and a little culture shocked – everything is so similar and yet so alien to him. The food is fascinating, and he is continually surprised by the mix of English and Chinese on shop signs and t-shirts and television. In honesty he feels lost, and the fact that he is, usually, the tallest person as he walks through the city, does not help him feel at home, or help him blend in.

Douglas' solace was Blaine. He knew it was not healthy to pin his sanity on another person, but that was how he felt because of all the things in his life, his relationship (for the first time) was the thing that made the most sense to him. The time difference, however, made it a little difficult to actually maintain their daily call – when it was 6pm in Ohio on a Tuesday, for example, it was 6am on Wednesday for Douglas. They managed calls on the weekends though, and it rapidly became the one thing Douglas looked forward to all week.

'We won.'

'I knew you would – see, all that hard work was worth it, Blaine. I'm proud of you. So – Nationals next, yes? Where are they this year?'

'Los Angeles.'

'Cooper lives in L.A., right?'

'Yeah – he's probably going to insist I say with him and delight in embarrassing me in front of the guys.'

'What else are little brothers for?'

'Don't tell me the suave and gentlemanly Douglas Chambers could possibly have demeaned himself so to poor Roger?' The teasing note in Blaine's voice seems a little strained and Douglas makes a note to ask what is wrong.

'Me? Never!'

'Yeah, yeah. I'm going to have to ask Unc… Roger to tell me all about it when we see him. I can't believe it is only two weeks until you're back. It feels like it has been so much longer. I miss you.' Blaine's little huff makes Douglas' chest ache, but he is more concerned by the sudden change in tone from teasing to melancholy.

'I miss you too, baby. Blaine?'

'Hm?'

'You know you can talk to me about anything, right?'

'Of course.'

'I know something's up. Did something happen? What's wrong?'

'I'm that transparent? Coop would have a field day – he's always telling me I wear my emotions on my sleeve – I can't even act on the phone.'

'He actually said "sleeve"?'

'No. He actually said I wear my emotions on my eyebrows – then I punched him in the ribs.'

'Blaine!' Douglas smiles at the younger man's laughter, but he sees through Blaine's attempt to distract him. 'So, what happened?'

'I don't really want to talk about it.'

'Anything I can help with?'

'No. It's just… I guess… Burt's in remission.'

'That's a good thing, right?'

'Yeah, but Kurt came to visit, and every time we bumped into each other we didn't get a chance to talk, then when we did… he ran back to New York.'

'I'm sorry, Blaine.'

'I just… He frustrates me, you know? He's the one that accused me of running away all the time and he's doing the exact same thing!' Blaine huffs his annoyance and Douglas' skin itches to just hold the smaller man against him – to shield him from pain - to kiss him until he feels better. 'God, I miss you.'

'You said he has someone now…'

'Yeah – Adam.'

'At least he has someone to talk to. It sounds like he's still confused about a lot of things – especially with what he's been going through with his father's cancer treatment…'

'I know. I just… We were friends first, and I…'

'You want to be there for him.'

'It was my default for so long.'

'I know. I wish I could just wave a wand and make it all better for you, baby.'

'You have a wand?' The smile in Blaine's voice is contagious.

'You know what I meant.'

'Sorry! I just realised what the time was – you need to go to work!'

'You come first to me. You know that.'

'Douglas! This is your job! This is you finally being recognised for your amazing talent and skill on a _global_ level – it is waaaaay more important than my childish nonsense!'

'Don't.'

'Don't what?'

'Don't put yourself down like that, ever. Don't minimise how important you are, OK? You are far more important than another tour of another contractors' office – you will _always_ be more important than work to me, Blaine.'

He hears Blaine's breath hitch.

'I really do miss you – I feel so lost right now. I can't even imagine what it must be like for you all the way over there with no friends.'

'It's not too bad. It's a little…odd. It's just different I suppose. It would be better if you were here with me though.'

'Next time?'

'I'd love that.'

'Deal – you listen to my petty worries and I'll keep you company on your next business trip.'

'Blaine.' Douglas tries to instil warning into his voice but does not quite manage to succeed, as Blaine's laughter demonstrates.

'I know…I know… No derogatory comments. I'm sorry. You should go…'

'I know.' He sighs a little, softly, and thinks he hears its echo over the miles. 'I really miss you, Blaine. I can't wait until we don't have to be apart.'

'Even when you're back you'll be in New York and I'll still be in Ohio.'

'What about when you graduate? It's not long now.'

'Then I'll be in New York too.'

'I'd like you to move in with me…' Blaine's breathy gasp shocks Douglas and he struggles to reword his proposal. 'I mean… Could you think about it? Please? When you move to the city in the summer, I'd like it to be with me.'

'I'd like that, Douglas.'

'Really?'

'Yes. Really.'

Douglas' face hurts from grinning and he thinks he can hear a similar smile in Blaine's husky answer.

'I…uh…' He finds he has to cough to clear his throat. 'I should…'

'Go.'

'Yes.'

'I love you.'

'I know.'

'Good night, Blaine.'

'Good morning, Douglas.'

* * *

'Kurt, what's wrong?'

Adam's hand on his side feels like it is crushing him and Kurt feels like he cannot breathe. He throws off the bedcovers and almost falls onto the floor in his hurry to be as far away as possible. He is panting and shaking and

_It makes no sense!_

Kurt drops to a squat, his back to the wall, and fists his hands into his hair. It had all been

_Wrong wrong wrong_

since his return, weeks ago, to New York. He had spent the entire plane journey convincing himself that he was going to let it go – to move on – because Sebastian was (he never thought he would say this) right. Sebastian was right! Blaine had clearly moved on, and he was stalling. It was not fair on Adam or himself to keep pushing the Brit away. Now Adam was in his bed, beautiful, kind, sexy Adam was _in his bed_. He _wanted_ Kurt, and Kurt had, in that moment, wanted Adam, but with each kiss, each touch, each stilted, breathless moan his mind had betrayed him screaming

_Wrong wrong wrong_

Now there was a confused and probably angry man in his bed and Kurt found the entire situation hilarious. He could not breathe he was laughing (or crying?) so hard.

He jumped when someone crouched down beside him and for a fleeting second he was in the hallway at McKinley after being elected Prom Queen expecting his dark knight to rescue him – to make it alright. But the accent was wrong, the smell was wrong, the height was wrong.

_Wrongwrongwrongwrongwrong_

'Kurt?'

He opens his eyes slowly and looks, really looks at the man next to him. He is tall, and lean, and his blue eyes are narrowed with concern; his brow furrowed. Blonde hair juts haphazardly at angles from his head and Kurt knows that it is because of him – he did that – and it makes him feel nauseous and guilty and dirty.

'I'm so sorry.'

'Hey, hey. No. It's OK, Kurt. It's OK.' Adam goes to reassure Kurt with a touch but hesitates when Kurt's eyes warn him to maintain his distance. He sighs and drops fully to the floor, leaning his head back against the wall, and rolling his eyes towards Kurt. 'Just talk to me?'

'I can't do this.'

'I noticed. Was it something I did?'

'I…I don't think so.'

'It's because I'm not him isn't it?'

Kurt does not answer him and he hates himself more in that instance because he owes it to Adam – the blonde deserves more than this. He deserves more than _him_. He deserves to have someone who can love him back, who can give him his heart to cherish and receive Adam's in return. Kurt is not that person. He's not sure he could ever be that person again.

'I thought we wanted this?'

'I wanted to.'

'So, what happens now?'

'I really don't know.'

'Come on, Kurt, get up – let's get some clothes on before we catch cold. I'll make us some tea and we can talk?'

He knows it is childish but he shakes his head and Adam laughs softly at Kurt's petulance.

'Could you just…leave?'

'If you want me to.'

'Please?'

Adam frowns and Kurt hides his face in his knees, curling his arms around himself protectively.

'I really like you, Kurt.'

'I like you too.'

'I deserve better than this, you know?'

'I'm not arguing with you.'

'What's going on, Kurt, really? Because I thought…I think we're good for each other, and you said that you were ready for this.'

'I don't know. I wanted to be.'

Adam shakes his head.

'You're not over him, Kurt. You're not going to be unless you talk to him you know. Pick up the phone and talk to him.'

'He doesn't answer when I call or text.'

'Skype him then! What happened to the Kurt Hummel I met? Where's he gone? He wouldn't keep making excuses all the time – if he wanted something he went out and got it! He didn't take no for an answer with NYADA! He wouldn't just give up now.'

He's not sure what did it but he is suddenly furious – with Blaine, with Adam, with his father, with himself. He feels as if he is a boiling ball of gas trapped in a container about to explode. He takes a deep breath and tries to keep calm – Adam is right after all and Kurt is not exactly in the position to really say anything right now.

'You're never going to get over him until you have the details. All of them. Even the ones you don't want to hear. I really care about you, Kurt, and I'm worried about you. You need to do this – not for me but for yourself.'

'You're right.'

He pushes himself up from the floor and picks up his cell phone, scrolling through his contacts until he reaches Blaine's home phone number, then dials. He feels more than sees Adam pull some clothes on and head out into the kitchen area – his focus reduces to the inhuman ringing in his ears. He almost stops breathing when he hears the _click_ of someone answering his call.

'Hello? Who's speaking please?'

'Uh… Hi, Mrs. Anderson. It's Kurt. Kurt Hummel. Is…is Blaine there?'

'Sorry, Kurt, he's not – he's in New York at the moment. Have you got his cell number?'

'Yes. Uh…I'll try that. Thank you.'

'Any time, dear. Bye.'

'Bye, Mrs. Anderson.'

He scrolls back through his contact list – his sweaty fingers barely registering on the touch-screen. He has to press the green call icon three times before it co-operates, his own breath echoing in his ear as he waits, waits, waits.

_No answer._

For a second he had allowed himself to think that Blaine in New York meant he was coming to visit Kurt. Coming to talk to_ him_. He had imagined hearing Blaine's little huff of surprise as he answered his phone, his hand poised about to knock on the loft door, his arms full of roses. No, not roses. Anything but roses.

But he's not in New York for Kurt. Blaine's with his _boyfriend_. Blaine's with his boyfriend in New York, just as Kurt is, but Blaine has moved on and Kurt cannot.

He laughs then. Kurt is certain he looks terrifying – hair and eyes wild, naked body shaking. He dimly hears someone rummaging in the kitchen and he is overcome with the need to be out of the loft. He needs air. He pulls on the clothes nearest to hand and breezes through the loft, ignoring Adam's confused shouts. He walks, blinded by tears and anger, until he runs out of energy then collapses against the nearest building.

Blaine is in New York. Blaine is in New York without him. Blaine is in New York with his boyfriend. Blaine is in the same damn city!

He dries his eyes roughly with his sleeves and has a sudden moment of clarity. _Sebastian_. He would know where Blaine was – of course, he would not _tell_ him where he was though. The chances of Sebastian telling Kurt anything though was nil. He had made his position completely clear after Regionals. Kurt groaned in pained frustration.

_Focus. You can fix this. Adam's right. Kurt Hummel is not a quitter._

_ Courage_

Kurt flicks through his phone contacts sending texts messages to anyone who may have information careless of how it may look. Numbers he has not used since _before_ when he and Blaine were two Warblers. It feels like a lifetime ago – filmed in sepia and stored safe in a bubble.

**Hi Trent, sorry about what happened at Regionals. I'm trying to get hold of Blaine. Any idea what his number is or whether he changed it – I can't seem to get through to him. I owe you one – Kurt**

**Hi Nick, sorry about what happened at Regionals. I'm trying to get hold of Blaine. Any idea what his number is or whether he changed it – I can't seem to get through to him. I owe you one – Kurt**

**Hi Jeff, sorry about what happened at Regionals. I'm trying to get hold of Blaine. Any idea what his number is or whether he changed it – I can't seem to get through to him. I owe you one – Kurt**

_Copy paste copy paste copy paste_

He does not expect replies so quickly.

**Kurt! Hi! Good to see you the other day too. Blaine got a new phone – his got lost a couple of months back at a club when he saved Bas from a guy who tried to kill him with a bottle to the head. The oafs tried to say Blaine attacked them first! Bas' dad got them to drop the charges though. I'll send his new number to you in a sec as a contact link. Hope you're OK. Miss you. Tx**

**Hey hey, stranger! Didn't get a chance to talk when you were back! You should have hung with us – like old times! B lost his phone a while back helping Sebastian out in a fight. He's got a white knight complex if you ask me – you know all about that though right? ;) His number is 570-6648. See you soon? Jeffster**

**Jeff says he sent you B's number. Hope things r OK? If you find out nething about B's b/f let us know!1 He won't share info! Rude! Nick**

He takes a breath before saving Blaine's number to his phone, his pulse racing, and palms sweating, and vision shaking. Blaine had been in a fight? Blaine had saved Sebastian's life? His brain struggled to process the new information and he immediately felt terrible and nauseous. He stared at the number until it felt burnt into his retinas.

**Blaine, got your number from Warblers – didn't know you'd changed it. Could we talk? – K**

Kurt hit send before he had really decided what he wanted to say then waited.

It was Adam that found him and, wrapping a coat around his shoulders, walked him back to the loft after trying, and failing, to prise the phone from Kurt's fingers. The blonde kissed Kurt lightly on the cheek before settling Kurt into bed then quietly leaving. Kurt knew they'd just broken up, but he could not bring himself to go after Adam. He buried his head in the pillows, one eye on his phone, and waited. Waited. Waited.

* * *

** A/N **- As always, I'm overwhelmed by your responses to this story. I really have no way to show you how much your comments, likes, and follows mean to me except by trying to update as often as I can. I love you all. Truly.


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